Magical Matches!
by DragonLady37
Summary: Looking for that perfect witch or wizard? Someone to really get your potion brewing? Then look no further than Magical Matches! It's simple! Just fill the attached vial with your blood, owl it to our headquarters, and await your MAGICALLY MAGICAL MATCH! / EWE, Dramione, M for Sexual Content, Three-part mini fic!
1. A Blind Date

**Here's a little something that was a lot of fun to write! It's EWE, Dramione, and there's some lemony goodness at the end, just as an FYI. Hope you enjoy! If you, please consider leaving a review and checking out my other Dramione fics!**

_***recently revised for typos***_

* * *

_Looking for that perfect witch or wizard?  
__Someone to really get your potion brewing?  
__Then look no further than **Magical Matches!**  
__It's simple! Just fill the attached vial with your blood,  
__owl it to our headquarters,  
__and await your MAGICALLY MAGICAL MATCH!_

_*please include 25 galleons with your order*_

The pamphlet landed on Hermione's face as she lay on the couch, reading a book by lamplight. She jumped, then scanned the front, before sitting up and glaring at her roommate. "What the bloody hell, Gin?" she asked, waving the pamphlet at her.

Ginny stood, quidditch gear still on, hands on her hips.

"You need to date," she stated bluntly. "The only time you go out is with me when I'm in the off season, and then you take a book."

Hermione bristled. "You're delusional."

"You're surly, and lonely, and I've had enough!" Ginny threw her hands in the air. "You listen to me Hermione Jean Granger, and you listen good. You're going to give them your blood, owl it in, and wait to fall in love, dammit!"

Much like her mother, Ginny was not a woman you wanted to mess with when she was angry. And it was this similarity between the younger and older Weasley women that had Hermione shrinking in on herself and nodding before she even realized what she was doing.

Like a light switch being turned on, Ginny smiled and dropped her hands. "Lovely. I'm off to shower, then."

Hermione watched her leave before turning back to the pamphlet. She knew if she didn't do it, Ginny would go full-Weasley, and that was to be avoided at all costs. With a huff, she moved to her writing desk beside the window and took out a quill. She addressed a return envelope that had ben included with the pamphlet, then retrieved the vial. It was small and reminded her of one of the tubes used to collect blood in Muggle hospitals. The instructions read: _Place against fingertip and wait. _So she did. It was a sharp pinch, but it was over in a few seconds. When she pulled the vial from her finger, it sealed on its own. She looked at her blood in the vial - brilliant red - swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, and dropped it into the envelope along with her name and address.

When Ginny got out of the shower, wrapped in a small, mint green towel, Hermione was still sitting by the window, envelope in hand.

"Good gods, give me that." Holding her towel under her armpits to keep it up, Ginny secured the envelope to their shared owl, gave it the address, and sent it on its way. "Now we get to wait for your one true love. How fun!" She grinned broadly before turning sharply, sending a shower of water droplets from her hair into Hermione's face, and heading back to the loo to dress for bed.

Hermione stared at the little owl as it disappeared into the night, a heavy feeling of resignation in her gut.

* * *

"Come on, mate!" Blaise lounged in a wingback chair, legs draped over the side, a tumbler of firewhiskey in his hand. "It'll be fun."

"You and I have very different definitions of the word _fun,_" Draco said from where he stood by the bookshelf, looking in vain for a book that he hadn't yet read. His fingers hovered over the spine of one book - the first Muggle novel he'd ever read called _1984_ \- before moving on, looking for something new, something that carried less emotional baggage with it.

"Come _on_." Blaise swung his legs to the front of the chair and threw the liquid back. "It's been, what, two years since Astoria dumped you?"

Draco shot Blaise an angry look. "Three years, actually. And she didn't _dump _me. It was mutual."

"Sure it was." He grinned. "You need to get out there!" He picked up the pamphlet he'd brought over and handed it to Draco. Again. Draco scowled.

"What can it hurt?" Blaise winked as he filled up his tumbler again.

"I don't _need _a dating service, Blaise." Draco turned to lean on the shelf, crossing his arms over his chest. His Dark Mark stood in stark contrast to his pale skin just below the cuff of his rolled up shirt sleeve. His home as the only place he didn't keep his forearms covered. The only place he didn't have to hide.

"All right, then. Let's go out! We'll go to a bar. You'll talk up some birds, use that Malfoy charm, maybe get a date. No dating service. Problem solved!" He sipped his firewhiskey, a glint in his dark eyes.

Draco's scowl intensified. "I can't, Blaise. I'm much too busy. I have missives to send, and I need to - "

Blaise shoved the pamphlet in his hands. "All it takes is a return address and a teensy little vial of your blood." He sipped his firewhiskey again and winked over the rim of the glass. "I'm not leaving 'til you do."

"Fine," Draco grumbled. "If it'll get you to leave." He read the directions, plucked the tiny vial from the parchment, and pressed it to his fingertip. "Bloody hell," he said, pulling his finger away to suck on the tiny wound after the vial was full.

"Already filled out the return label for you, mate," Blaise said, plucking the vial from Draco's fingers before dropping it into the tiny envelope. "I'll send it off, don't you worry." He downed the rest of his firewhiskey and handed the glass Draco, who rolled his eyes. "Let me know when you're matched up! I'll help you get ready for your date."

Blaise left, envelope in hand, and Draco watched him, feeling very irritated and very nervous. He looked down at the Mark on his arm and scowled before filling the tumbler in his hand to brim and downing it in one go.

* * *

"Do they give a name?" Ginny asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she read the letter from Magical Matches over Hermione's shoulder.

"No. It just says they've found a wizard whose magical signature is compatible with mine." She swallowed. "99.8% compatible. It also says that a _good _match is at least 80%. That very few witches or wizards have above a 90% compatibility rate, unless they're related." Hermione looked up at Ginny with panicked eyes. "And it can't be anyone I'm related to, because no one else in my family is magical."

"Why do you look so upset?" Ginny grabbed Hermione around the neck and hugged her, squealing in her ears. "This is wonderful!"

Hermione stared at the letter, her hands clammy. "Gin," she said, shrugging her off as she shoved the letter in her face. "_99.8 % match. _That's. It's just ridiculous! I haven't been with anyone since - " She stopped herself before she revealed her one, tightly held secret. Images flashed unbidden against her eyelids. Pale, moonlit skin. Kiss-swollen lips. The whisper of her name against her ear.

"Do not let my stupid brother mess this up. It's been three years, Hermione. THREE. YEARS." Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's still dating that witch from the States, by the way. What's her name."

"Jen," Hermione supplied, letting her head fall into her hands, relieved Ginny hadn't noticed her lapse.

"Right." Ginny huffed. "Jen's a little too close to Gin, if you ask me. But no one did. Anyway, they're dating. She's dull, but he seems happy. And now it's time - well, long past time - for _you _to be happy! And you have a _100% match!_" Ginny beamed.

"99.8," Hermione corrected.

Ginny laughed. "Same difference! Now, let's pick out what you'll wear!"

"I have to respond, first!" Hermione said, panic welling in her chest. "We have to plan - "

"Then do it! I'll go look in your closet!" she squealed, practically skipping away.

Hermione held the results in her hand. 99.8%. With a hand that shook, she responded to the questionnaire at the bottom that would determine when and where her blind date would be.

* * *

"This cannot be correct," Draco said, turning the paper over, hoping for some clarification. He stared at the figure. **99.8% Magical Match! **Impossible.

"Well, wouldya look at that!" Blaise laughed as he clapped Draco on the shoulder. "A _perfect _match! 100%!"

"99.8," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"A full 19.8% _above _the average." He grinned wolfishly. "You can thank me at your wedding." He laughed at Draco's incredulous expression.

"I have to fill out a date profile," Draco grumbled, flipping to the second page where a questionnaire about date preferences was listed. "I'm not sure. Astoria and I only went to the most upscale restaurants available. She wouldn't go anywhere else."

"Then think, in your _wildest _dreams, where would _you _like to go?"

Draco plopped onto the couch in his study and stared at the bold **99.8%. **The last time he'd been with someone, it had literally been one of his wildest dreams. He still remembered the searing heat her fingers had left along his skin, the way she'd held him against her, possessively, as she'd come undone. It was the reason Astoria had left. Not that he blamed her. He'd been the one to cheat, and he'd told her about it right away, hoping to leave himself available for the witch that had entranced him. And where had that gotten him? Single for three years with the memory of a one-night stand that he couldn't shake.

"I don't know." He looked up, eyes wild. "I can't go many places with this," he motioned with a snarl toward his left forearm. "But, I suppose, if someone was matched with me, they may have one too?" He looked both horrified and hopeful. "Oh, gods, what if it's another ex-Death Eater? That would be horrific." He put the paper face down on the couch and cradled his head in his hands.

"Oh, come on now," Blaise said, looking slightly less self assured. "It won't be." He forced a smile and Draco groaned. "Let's just figure out where you'll meet this bird. Worst case scenario, you can't stand her, and don't owl her again. Yeah?"

"Yeah. All right."

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Hermione huffed, holding out the pendant necklace that came with her latest Magical Matches letter. "Why on earth would they insist we wear a glamour on a first date?" She held the necklace up in front of her face and let the pendant spin. Rose quartz. The stone that symbolized love.

"Probably so you'll get to know the person first and not jump their bones when you see how handsome they are." Ginny winked. "We'll have to pick a new dress to go with that lovely rose, though. This red won't do." She stood with her hand on her chin, forefinger tapping her jaw as she thought. "Ooh, what about your green one? The wrap dress! It will be lovely with that color!" She leafed through hangers until coming to to dress. She retrieved it victoriously and held it up to the necklace. The forest green did look very nice with the rose quartz on a gold chain.

"Oh, all right," Hermione huffed. "I really would rather _see _who it is I'm going to be spending the evening with, though."

"We have a plan, remember?" Ginny handed her the dress and pointed toward the bathroom. "I'll be there, having dinner, watching you the whole time."

"Yes, I remember," Hermione said, through the open bathroom door. She slipped the dress on, tying the wrap around her waist. The sleeves went to her elbows and the hem to the middle of her thigh. "How do I do my hair?"

Ginny entered, a makeup bag in hand, and pushed her onto a stool in front of their vanity. "I've got this," she said, a determined set to her jaw.

With the frenzy of a woman on a mission, Ginny made Hermione up. Her hair - still a mess of wild curls - was pinned back and pulled up into a loose, casual bun. A few curls hung down by her face. For makeup, Ginny kept it light. A little mascara, a little gloss, a little rose blush for her cheeks.

"He'll still be able to see your makeup with this glamour, I think. But it won't really pop until you take the necklace off," she said as she worked.

"_If _I take it off. The instructions say to only take it off if we both decide for a second date."

"You will," Ginny said with a smirk. "There!" she said after applying the tiniest bit of shimmer to Hermione's cheeks. "Perfect. Now the necklace."

Hermione looked into the mirror, begrudgingly admitting that Ginny had made her look very nice. She undid the clasp and laid the pendant on her sternum, right above the small amount of cleavage her dress offered. As soon as it was clasped again, the air around Hermione shimmered, and when it settled a stranger was there.

"I don't look a thing like myself," Hermione grumbled.

"That's the point, isn't it?" Ginny said, hands clasped excitedly in front of her chest. "Now, move it so I can get ready."

Hermione moved to the full length mirror and catalogued her new look. Her hair was still curly, but it was blonde - a light, flaxen blonde that reminded her of Luna's. Her eyes, normally brown, were a fair gray-blue, and her skin was flawless, but very pale. And there was something else - she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she felt very _plain. _Almost as if the glamour was intended to make sure the person seeing it didn't focus very much on what she looked like. Her features, too, were plain. Not unattractive, just very _average. _Not at all memorable.

"OK Gin, I have to go, or I'll be late. Please, wave or something _discreet_ when you get there."

"Break a leg!" Ginny called, using the Muggle phrase that Hermione had taught her, followed by her boisterous laugh.

Hermione rushed out the door after slipping on her sensible flats, charmed gold to match her necklace, heart racing.

* * *

"Well, I look terrible." Draco said as he readjusted the rose quartz pin on his jacket pocket. As soon as he'd fastened it to his jacket pocket, he'd transformed into the most dull person he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Not so bad," Blaise said with a cheerful smile. "Besides, I think that's the point. Lets you get to know your date before you hop in the sack."

Draco scowled as he took in his new appearance. Mousey brown hair and eyes. Lightly freckled skin. Nothing to write home about. He pushed his sleeve up and his eyebrows rose. At least his Mark was gone.

"You don't have to come to the restaurant, you know," Draco said, adjusting his suit jacket for the tenth time, tugging at his sleeves and smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.

"Of course I do!" he clapped Draco's shoulder, and Draco smoothed the invisible wrinkles his hand caused. "Besides, I want to see the great Draco in action on a date!" He looked positively giddy.

"Don't get your hopes up," Draco grumbled, pushing his average brown hair off his average freckled face. His features were rounder than before, which meant his scowl was much less intimidating. His eyebrows knitted together. "I'm going to be late," he said, checking his pocket watch. "I really hope I _won't _see you later," he said, and Blaise laughed. Draco left his house - a far cry from the Manor, but a nice house, nonetheless - and with a twist, he apparated.

* * *

Hermione walked into the restaurant - a nice little place, lit by candlelight, filled with two-seater tables covered in red table cloths and crisp, white napkins - her nerves on fire. She held her clutch in one hand while the other fidgeted with her necklace.

"Er, Jill?" An almost familiar voice said behind her. She spun, recognizing the false name Magical Matches had given her for this date.

"Jack?" She responded, and he nodded. He wore a glamour, too, and his face, like hers, was very average, but nice. She grinned and held out her hand.

"It's nice to meet you," she said and he hesitated only a moment before taking her hand and shaking it once.

"Yes. You too." He cleared his throat. "Shall we sit?" He offered her his arm and she took it, blushing slightly.

He pulled her chair out for her. He was a gentleman. That was a vast difference from going out with Ron, as was going to a restaurant that required a suit jacket and didn't feature Quidditch everywhere you looked.

"Well," Hermione said, looking around the candle that sat right in her way. "This is awkward, isn't it? How are we supposed to talk?"

To her relief, his plain features broke out into a smile, and he laughed. "Very awkward."

"Let's just move this," she scooted the candle over to the side. "And break the ice, shall we?"

"That sounds like a plan. You go first." Jack smirked at her and the expression was vaguely familiar, though it was hard to place with the glamour confusing her eyes.

"Fair enough. I'm not supposed to give away personal information yet, so let's start light." She smiled. "What is your _favorite _book?" Her eyes sparkled, even through the glamour, and Jack smiled.

"That's easy," he said right as the waiter arrived. "Oh, er, we haven't had a chance to look at the menu. Wine, Jill?"

"Please."

"We'll take a bottle of red, and a few minutes to browse the menu." He gave the waiter a nod, and Hermione felt impressed with how self assured he was. Ron had _never _been like that, always waiting for her to take the lead. And while she was a strong, independent woman, fully capable of taking the lead, it was nice to be able to share that role with someone else from time to time.

He lifted the menu, looking over the top at her. "Back to that very important, and very telling, question," he said, smirking at her again as his eyes scanned the menu. She forced her eyes off the very plain man in front of her and onto the different meals. "I suppose, if I had to pick a single favorite novel, it would have to be _The Great Gatsby _by F. Scott Fitzgerald."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "A muggle novel!" she said, unable to help the smile that spread across her face.

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "The last few years, I've discovered an appreciation for Muggles that I lacked in my youth." He glanced up, saw her smile, and relaxed. "Especially Muggle literature."

"Oh, I think that's _wonderful_," she said, grinning broadly. "I'm quite a fan of Muggle novels myself." Her expression turned quizzical. "But isn't _Gatsby_ quite sad? I haven't read it in years, but in the end, he doesn't get his love, right? He loses his girl _and _his life. Even with all the wealth and fame he's acquired, he's miserable."

"But the reason he acquires all that fame and wealth is _for_ the woman he loves." Jack shrugs. "I suppose, also, I'm a realist. Stories with happily ever afters don't seem as realistic to me as the ones with real pain do."

His voice was sad, and Hermione's heart leapt with sadness for him. She wanted to reach out and pat his hand, but the waiter arrived with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

They ordered their food, and Jack poured wine for them both. "All right, Jill. Your turn. Favorite book."

"Have you ever read _Little Women,_ by Louisa May Alcott?" Hermione asked as she took a sip of her wine. It was mildly sweet and made her taste buds tingle.

"I have." He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. "Another sad one, if memory serves."

"Yes," she said, placing her napkin on her lap, "but what draws me to it is the character Jo."

Jack smiled as he cut the chicken on his plate. "She's strong," he says before taking a small bite. "Independent. But sad, too? I was always disappointed she didn't marry Laurie when he asked."

Hermione felt something in her stomach flutter. She'd never - _never _\- been able to talk about literature on a date. It was exhilarating. "Yes," she said after another sip of wine, "but really, he wouldn't have been her equal. He was comfortable and familiar, and she loved him, but he would never _challenge_ her. So she married Bhaer, who didn't push her to marry until she was ready, and who let her be herself." She took a bite of her own chicken, fighting back a moan at how rich the flavor was.

"I hadn't considered that," he said, chewing thoughtfully. "I suppose I always just thought Bhaer was a bit boring."

Hermione laughed. "Well, yes. He was far from romantic, but it's the principal of the thing."

He nodded, thoughtfully, then smirked. "That's a fair point. However," he said, pointing his fork at her, "I still think she deserved a little romance."

Hermione blushed, ducking her head. "I'll concede to that."

* * *

Draco watched Jill blush and felt a smile spread on his face. She wasn't much to look at, but he knew that was the glamour. Even so, he was enjoying their conversation so much that he didn't think it would matter what she really looked like. He'd never been able to talk to Astoria like this, not on dates, not in private. This was something he'd only ever experienced with one other witch, and it wouldn't do to think of _her _right now.

As the evening wore on, Draco found himself more and more enthralled by Jill. She'd started the evening by moving the candle. It was a small gesture, but it wasn't something a pureblood witch would have done. She'd done it because she wanted to see him, to be able to talk to him. It was refreshing.

They talked about books, _Muggle _books, something he'd developed a great fondness for over the last three years, ever since _1984_ had been left in his bedroom by the woman he couldn't get out of his head.

He pushed those thoughts away. That door was closed. It had been closed for three years. He wouldn't let those memories interfere with what was turning out to be a truly lovely evening. Of course, it didn't help that Jill reminded him of her a bit.

He learned that Jill sometimes snorted a little when she laughed, and she wasn't afraid to laugh loudly. No giggling. No little simpers. She _laughed_. She was also extremely opinionated, and rather than find it annoying when she countered him, he found it invigorating.

"You can't honestly tell me you've tried _every_ flavor of Bertie Botts," she said, leaning forward, pale eyes shining with mirth.

"I have!" he assured her, sipping his wine. The bottle was nearly empty, their dinner plates long gone, replaced with dessert that was quickly dwindling.

"But, there are _hundreds,_" she said before taking a bite of her chocolate mousse.

"Three hundred and twenty-six, to be precise." He smirked as he took a bit of his own mousse, wishing they'd chosen to share one in the hope his hand might brush hers.

"How can you even know that?" Jill lifted her eyebrows in challenge.

"Well, after old Bertie died, he passed the company onto his son, Frank. And Frank is a good friend of mine. He let me come in and tour the facilities. Got to try one of each flavor."

Jill's smile grew. "And how were they?" she asked, her knuckle resting on her lip.

He laughed. "Mostly terrible," he admitted. "There are a _lot _of terrible flavors, and they really stuck with me for a few days." He grimaced and she laughed again, a sound that made him grin without meaning to.

Suddenly, the wine was gone. The dessert was gone. The other restaurant patrons were dwindling. Draco checked his pocket watch. It was already 11. They'd been here three hours.

"It's getting quite late," he said, suddenly overcome with nerves. This was the one part of the date he'd been dreading the most. Revealing to this lovely witch who he was, and seeing her horrified face as she fled.

"It is," she said, her voice overly bright, as if she too were nervous. "I suppose. Well, we have to decide if we'd like to do this again. That's what the instructions said." Her eyes were wide and she fidgeted with her napkin between her fingers.

He cleared his throat. The moment of truth. "I, for one, would very much like that," he said, fighting the urge to scratch the skin where his Dark Mark lay under the glamour.

Her tension faded as she smiled, brightly. "So would I. Very much." Her hand reached for her necklace, and he held up his own hand to stop her.

"Before you do that, I feel like it's best if you know who I am, first." She looked at him, confused, and he sighed. "This way, if you see me, and decide you'd rather _not _go out again, you can retain your anonymity. No harm, no foul."

She reached out and laid her hand on his. Where she touched him, warmth bloomed and he drew courage from her touch.

"There's no face you could show me that would make me not want to see you again." The earnestness in her voice made him believe her. He took a deep breath.

"All right then." With fingers that shook, he reached up and unpinned the rose quartz dove from his pocket. He felt the glamour lift and heard someone in the back of the restaurant curse loudly. He waited a moment before he looked at her face. As he feared, she looked horrified. "As I said, I understand if - "

With jerky movements, Jill reached back and unclasped her necklace, letting it fall into her other hand before she laid it none too gently on the table. The glamour shimmered and fell away to reveal the one person Draco had thought about for three years. Hermione Granger.

"Bloody hell," he heard Blaise say from two tables over, but Hermione didn't seem to notice.

"And now it's awkward again," Draco said, staring at her, feeling both elated and crestfallen.

"I should go," she said, moving to stand, and he held out his hand to stop her. He'd had one question he'd been burning to ask her for three years, and this might be his only shot. "Please," he begged, "Just. Just a moment more."

Her face was a mask as she nodded stiffly and sat, her back rigid.

"First," he fidgeted with his napkin, wishing she'd touch his hand again. "I want to apologize. For what happened between us. It was - " he blushed, cursing his pale skin. "It wasn't fair to you, to put you in that position, and I'm sorry."

Her mask fell away as confusion painted itself across her features. "You have no reason to apologize," she said, relaxing a little back into her seat. "I'm the one who...who - " she took a deep breath and he wondered how he hadn't recognized her mannerisms all night. "Who destroyed your relationship with Astoria." She breathed the last bit, shame coloring her face.

"Hermione," her eyes shot to his, wide, and he gave in to the urge and reached forward to hold her hand, which still clutched her napkin. Her fingers were stiff and unresponsive, but he didn't pull away. "My relationship with Astoria was over long before you came into the picture." He took her hand more firmly, allowing his thumb to brush her knuckles. "Being with you - " she blushed crimson, "just showed me that there was something else, something _better_, out there. It gave me the courage to end things with her."

Hermione's eyes drifted closed, and when she opened them, her sadness permeated him to his core.

"Is that why you were gone before I woke up?" he whispered, and she nodded.

"I - " she finally loosened her grip on the napkin and let her fingers brush his. "I was ashamed." Her eyes - the rich, warm brown he remembered so vividly - welled with unshed tears. She was ashamed they'd slept together, ashamed to have associated so intimately with him. He started to pull his hand away and her eyes opened in alarm.

"I wasn't ashamed of _you,_" she said as if reading his mind, holding onto his hand tightly. "I was ashamed at having so little control. I knew you were unavailable, and I - " her cheeks bloomed crimson. "I was just ashamed that, knowing that, I let myself _be _with you."

Feelings Draco had long since buried rushed forth and he felt himself grip her hand more tightly. "I tried to contact you," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion.

"I know." Her hands were shaking. "I convinced myself they were angry letters. I couldn't open them. I still have them, though. I just - " a single tear fell. "I couldn't stand reading words that said what happened was a mistake."

"They didn't say anything like that," he said, leaning forward. "I just wanted to see you."

The waiter appeared, and both heads spun toward him. "Pardon me, but the restaurant is now closed. I apologize, but I must ask you to leave." They looked around, and surely enough they were the last people there.

"Oh, yes. My apologies," Hermione said as she let go of his hand and stood, flustered.

Draco stood too, heart racing. He couldn't let her get away again. He quickly paid the waiter, leaving a generous tip, then took long strides to catch up to Hermione, who was making a beeline for the door.

As they stepped out into the cool night, Draco saw Blaise, just across the street, standing next to who he thought was the Weasley girl. He would have to question that later, but at the moment he didn't have the time.

"Please, wait." She stopped, facing away from him. "I've thought about you, and only you, for three years," he said into the still night air.

Slowly, she turned. Tears left trails down her cheeks and he stepped forward to wipe them away, rewarded when she leaned into his touch.

"So have I," she whispered and he felt hope bloom in his chest.

"I want to see you again," he said, stepping forward so that they were only inches apart. Her eyes as they looked up into his were hopeful. "Tomorrow." He said, sounding more confident than he felt. If she rejected him, he didn't know what he would do. "Or, whenever you're free. Just tell me - "

"I want to go home with you," she said, setting her jaw. His heart skipped and his fingertips tingled with adrenaline. He remembered how soft her skin had been, how she'd molded against him as if they'd been made to fit together.

"Are you sure?" he asked, breaths rapid. She tilted her head up, tears slowing, and nodded.

His hand cupped her jaw, and again, she leaned into him, giving him courage. Her face was so close he could feel her breath. "I've missed you," he whispered.

"I've missed you, too," she breathed.

He couldn't take it anymore. He leaned down and captured her lips and she responded immediately, leaning into him, arms going around him. With a thought, he held her and spun once, the loud _crack _of apparition echoing through the nearly deserted alley.

* * *

"Well, how bout that?" Blaise asked, eyes wide and a smile on his face.

"It makes _so _much sense now," Ginny said, shaking her head. "She's been hung up on him for - "

"Three years?" Blaise asked, and Ginny nodded.

"She thought I didn't know. But of _course _I knew. I just didn't know who."

"Draco, too. Terrible liar, that one." He looked back to the empty street where their friends had been. He had planned on going back to Draco's, but now didn't seem like the best time. "Well, it's not even midnight yet. Fancy getting a drink somewhere, Weasley?" He waggled his eyebrows at her and she studied him with shrewd eyes.

"Only if you're paying, Zabini."

He grinned wolfishly and offered her his arm. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

With another crack, Draco and Hermione landed just outside the wards that surrounded his home. He gripped her face, kissing her deeply, before pulling away and staring into her eyes.

Hermione felt the loss and withheld a groan. She stared into steely gray and let herself feel how much she'd truly missed him.

"I need to know - " he said, his hot breath hitting her damp limps, contrasting with the cool night air, "that when I wake up, you'll still be here."

The raw emotion in his eyes wrecked her. She put her hands on his face, rubbing his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs. "I promise."

His expression softened and he pulled her lips to his again, his kiss giving a promise of more to come. He took her hand, leaving her breathless as he pulled away, and led her inside.

His house was just as she remembered - neat, modern, and stylish. He whisked her in, kicking the door closed behind him, and kissed her again in the entryway as the lights automatically came on.

"Er, do you want something to drink?" He kissed her. "Or, something to eat?" He kissed her again.

"We can eat later," she breathed, wrapping arms around him. "Right now, I just want you."

He growled as he kissed her, their teeth knocking together. He lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her dress scooting to the tops of her thighs. He squeezed her hips as he trailed kisses down her jaw toward her neck. She moaned as he rushed down the hall to his bedroom.

He licked and nipped at her neck as she let her hands get lost in his silky soft hair. When he stopped beside the bed, she slid down so that she was on her feet again, body still pressed to his. She kicked off her flats, breathing hard.

He took a step back, chest heaving, and Hermione was overcome with confidence. She met his eyes, seeing fire in their steely depths, and slowly untied her dress. The tie at the waist gave way and she unwrapped it, opening it to reveal her matching, modest underthings. She slipped it down her arms and let it puddle on the floor behind her. He stepped forward, large hands spanning her stomach and sliding to her back. He placed gentle kisses on her neck and down her shoulder, making her shiver.

As he kissed her, she slid his jacket off his shoulders, missing the heat of his hands as soon as she slipped his sleeves down. He touched her again as soon as he could and she set to work on his shirt's buttons, trying not to break any thread in her haste.

As his shirt left his shoulders, he stiffened, and her hand immediately went to his Dark Mark, covering it as she pressed her chest against his. She pulled back enough to pull his arm up. She kissed his palm before placing it on her cheek, Dark Mark glaring in the moonlight.

With sure fingers, she unbuckled his belt and undid his button and zipper. His pants slid down and he stepped out of them, shoes and socks already discarded. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and slid them down, feeling the warm, smooth skin of his bum under her fingers. He shivered before his hands slipped behind her back to unhook her bra.

As it fell away, they both stilled. Only one clothing item was still between them, and Hermione shivered at the prospect of removing it.

Draco pulled back and held her at arm's length. A spike of panic lanced through her chest, until she saw that he was standing back to look at her, to really _look _at her, and his eyes were on fire. She felt her body blush and he smiled.

With a shy smile of her own, she slipped her panties off and kicked them aside.

His chest heaved as he looked at her. She took a moment to admire his lean frame, his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The subtle lines of abdominal muscles that trailed down toward his manhood, which stood erect. If she hadn't already slept with him, the size of him would have intimidated her, but as it was, she couldn't wait to experience feeling _all _of him again.

"Tell me again," he said, closing the space between them, his fingers barely brushing her sides as his lips teased her ear. "That you'll be here when I wake up." He leaned back, their noses almost touching.

"I'll stay," she said, feeling her breath catch, knowing he _wanted _her to stay. For three years she'd convinced herself she had left him before he woke for his sake, that he didn't want her, and she ached with the loss of all that time. "I'm not going anywhere."

He was on her then, hands everywhere, lips everywhere, body flush with hers.

She gasped as he fell with her on the bed. She wrapped her limbs around him, wanting to hold him as tightly as she could. His hand cupped her bum, squeezing and she felt her hips buck, grinding into his leg. She nipped at his neck, placing open mouthed kisses across one shoulder. Her nails raked his back and he growled into her skin as he kissed and licked.

With one hand, he reached between them and stroked her, causing her to moan, her head falling back. When he slipped a single finger inside her, she gasped, nails digging into his back.

He took her breast in his mouth, his free hand caressing the other, all while slowly working her into a frenzy as he added a second finger to the first. She reached down then, wrapped her fingers around him, and his hips jerked forward as if of their own volition.

"Draco," she whispered as he curled his finger, her thighs clenching around his leg and his hands. She wiggled against him as he moved in and out, his palm pressing her. "Draco, please." He released her breast from his mouth and leaned back to look at her. Her hand squeezed him as her other hand found his neck, weaving her fingers in his hair. "I need you," she breathed, pressing her belly into his. He curled his finger once, eliciting a moan, before pulling his hand away and moving so that he was lying between her legs. Where their skin touched was on fire. Draco propped himself up on his hands, his arms caging her face. Hermione lay there, bathed in moonlight.

Their first time together had been frenzied. They'd ripped at each other's clothes, and crashed together like waves in a violent storm.

This time, Draco looked down at her with a question in his eyes. She'd hurt him when she left. She'd hurt herself. She'd thought she was doing them both a favor, but she'd been so wrong. Now, every touch was like a healing balm.

On her right, Draco's left arm stood, muscles and tendons taut. His Mark. The part of him he was most ashamed of. The first time they'd been together, he'd tried to keep his shirt on, and she had made him take it off. She'd ignored the Mark then, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable.

Tonight, she turned her face and reached up with her opposite hand to trace the ugly lines. He winced and she lifted her head to kiss his arm, to press her cheek against it. It was just ink, the magic having faded when the monster that branded him had died. She kissed it again, then reached up and pulled his face to hers.

As their lips met, he slowly slipped inside her. She gasped into his mouth, eyes and mouth wide.

"I've missed you, Hermione," he growled into her ear as he began to move. She gasped with each thrust, her hands going to his shoulders, her legs lifting to wrap around him, to draw him deeper. "Every day," he said, picking up his speed. As he moved faster, she moved with him, starting to meet his movements with her own. "Gods. Every damn day."

The pain of his words struck a chord inside her and she gripped him tighter, wanting to pull him even closer.

She opened her mouth to respond, but every time he thrust into her, she lost her breath. So instead she kissed his neck, kissed his face, kissed his lips as tenderly as she'd ever kissed anyone, wanting to convey that feeling through every touch.

He increased his speed, lifting her hips slightly. Her gasps became moans as heat built in her belly. She let her head fall back as he kissed her chest, his hands firm and on her hips as their bodies collided over and over.

"Draco," she breathed, hands going into her hair as he brought her to the edge. "Oh, gods. Draco!" She pulled at her hair then shot forward, wrapping around his neck. She pressed her forehead to his as stars exploded behind her eyes. She felt her breath catch, felt her body go rigid, as wave after wave of sensation coursed through her limbs.

As she rode this wave, she felt him press into her, crying out her name, before he, too, went limp.

They lay, tangled together, for a long moment. Draco lay in her curls, breathing deeply. Hermione stared up at the ceiling, smiling, trying to catch her breath as his breaths synced up with hers. Their bodies were slick with sweat where they touched and Hermione trailed her fingers along his shoulder blades, loving the feel of his weight on her, the feel of his smooth skin.

After his breathing was back to normal, he leaned up, arms shaking slightly. She pushed him so that he was on his back and she scooted to lean her head on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her and she rested her hand above his heart.

"I'm sorry I left last time," she said, and his grip on her waist tightened. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

He leaned down and kissed her hair. "I know. I'm just glad you're here again."

She nodded, burrowing into him. He hooked an oversized afghan at the foot of the bed and dragged it over them, leaving one foot out as Hermione pulled it up to her shoulder.

"Just don't leave again," he said, and she smiled.

"I wouldn't dream of it." She yawned and gripped him tighter, her eyes drifting closed.

* * *

"I really can't believe it," Ginny said, peeking into Draco's bedroom and seeing her friend, wrapped in Draco Malfoy's arms, hair tangled and wild. Their legs were askew, their bodies barely covered by a blanket.

"Why not?" Blaise said from where he leaned against the hallway wall, sipping a cup of rich, black coffee. "I've always heard opposites attract." He winked at her.

She rolled her eyes and took the coffee from his hands, taking a sip. "I just can't believe that Malfoy was the guy she hooked up with three years ago. She was a wreck for _weeks_ after that. Months, even. She told us it was because of Ron, but I know my brother, and I knew them together, and it definitely wasn't because of him."

"She's a lioness in a snake pit," he said, taking his coffee back and smirking at her over the rim of the cup. "That's a frightening place for a feline to be," he said, his breath pushing the steam from the coffee toward here. She scoffed and put her hands on her hips, his dress shirt from the night before barely brushing her thighs.

"Oh, yes. Terribly frightening," she said, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder. "I'm shaking in my boots."

With a wolfish grin, Blaise sat the coffee on the floor and grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her over his shoulder.

"You aren't wearing boots, witch," he said, slapping her bum playfully and earning a laugh. They disappeared down the hall and closed the door to the guest room behind them.

* * *

Draco woke to the smell of coffee, the feeling of a warm, soft body pressed against his. He pulled her closer and felt her wake. He waited with baited breath for her to panic and leave, wanting to savor this moment as long as he could.

Instead, he felt her stretch alongside him and crawl up so that her nose was pressed against his cheek. She kissed his cheek, eyes fluttering open, and smiled.

"You stayed," he said, and she laughed lightly. He pulled her up onto his chest, tangling the blanket around them, and pushed the tangles of her hair over her shoulder and behind her ear.

"I shouldn't have left the first time." She smiled as she looked at him, chin resting on the back of one hand while they other traced patterns on the skin below his ear.

"So," he said, tucking nonexistent curls back as an excuse to touch her face. "Last night, at dinner, you said you wanted to have dinner again." He smirked. "Do you still want to?"

She laughed as she rolled off of him, landing flat on her back as he rolled with her, propping his head up on his hand to stare down at her, in his bed, in the sunlight.

"I think that sounds lovely," she said as she stretched. "But first, coffee." She yawned, causing her skin to slide against his, and he groaned. She felt him hard against her and laughed again. "Coffee first. I'll need my energy." She kissed his nose and he growled.

Hermione jumped off the bed and grabbed his shirt - a soft, long-sleeved button down in a light pink that was almost white. She fingered the luxurious fabric as she slipped it over her shoulders and buttoned it, leaving the top few undone just to tease him. He slipped some pajama pants on from a drawer beside his bed and she stepped into his arms. They were standing next to his bookshelf, and her eyes caught on a book near the very top.

"I believe that's my book," she said, pointing, and he shook his head.

"It was left in _my _home. For three years. I believe the ownership has transferred to me at this point." He kissed her cheek and she pretended to try and shove him away.

With a laugh, Draco opened the bedroom door and almost tripped over the mug of coffee on the floor. He craned his neck and thought he heard a laugh and a crash in Blaise's room. It had been the guest room, but since he was too busy living the bachelor life to buy a place of his own, he'd unofficially moved in.

"Blaise?" Draco called, his arm wrapped around Hermione's waist. The noise stopped, and after a moment, Blaise's disheveled head popped out of the doorway. "What are you - "

Ginny Weasley's head popped out as well.

All four people froze. In shock, Hermione laughed before quickly covering her mouth. "We'll get coffee later," she said, turning and pulling Draco back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

As soon as the door shut, Draco picked her up. She laughed as he carried her across the room and tossed her onto the bed.

"Stay for the day," he said, leaning over her and she nodded.

"For as long as you'll have me," she said as she captured his lips with hers.

* * *

**Stay tuned for a follow up chapter, in which we go back in time three years and see the night Hermione and Draco first collided. If you made it this far, please review! **


	2. Three Years Earlier

**For anyone interested in reading about the _first _time Draco and Hermione collided in this little world, here you go! Heads up: there's quite a bit of adult content in the last half. **

_***revised for typos***_

* * *

**Three Years Earlier**

The coffee house where Hermione sat reading _1984_ was loud and filled with students just on break for summer. She was tempted to cast a muffliato, but knew that this particular café was frequented by both wizards and muggles, so she couldn't risk it.

With a sigh, she reached for her mug - she always asked for a mug rather than a paper cup, and the barista always rolled her eyes - to take a drink, only to discover her coffee was gone.

She checked her watch. It was only 3:30. Ron would still be at her flat, gathering up his things. He hadn't lived with her, not really, but he'd been there enough that his things had migrated into every nook and cranny over the course of their evening.

She sighed again, placing her coffee receipt in the book before tucking it in her shoulder bag.

The line to the front was long, so she sat and thought while she waited to go and get a refill. Having coffee this late in the day would probably mean she wouldn't sleep well, but it was either sit here and drink coffee, or wander around London and risk going home too early and inadvertently taking him back when he inevitably gave her those big, blue, puppy dog eyes.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. _How had this happened? _She and Ron had been dating, on and off, for nearly five years. They'd taken numerous breaks, too many to remember, and each time Hermione convinced herself that when they were back together, they'd finally find their groove. As it was, each time just made their re-coupling more awkward. This final time, she knew, was _it._

She loved him. She really did. But she loved him like she loved Harry, which had been a painful realization. For her entire adolescence he had been an icon to her - funny, cute, hot-headed, the only one for her - but the reality of dating him had been far from a storybook romance. It more resembled an evening tea with your Nana where you'd forgotten your pants.

Hermione looked up, a headache forming behind her eyes, relieved to see the line had dwindled some while she thought. She walked up with her cup, preparing herself to deal with the snarky barista again, when a man leaning against the counter caught her eye. It wasn't because he was handsome, because he was, or because he was fit, because he was, or even because he was holding up the line and she was in desperate need of a caffeine fix. It was because this man was none other than Draco Malfoy, someone she hadn't seen in nearly five years, except in the papers.

The barista was leaning forward, flirting shamelessly, while Malfoy gave her the fabricated smile he always gave for the cameras when they photographed him and his fiancée out about town. Hermione couldn't help but snort at the sight, causing the blonde to turn toward her.

She expected his usual - a sneer, a look of revulsion, a lame insult, and maybe even a shoulder check as he walked way. Instead, he did something even more irrational and unexpected, something that completely knocked her for a loop - he smiled. At her.

"Hermione Granger?" He stood from where he leaned and walked toward her. Hermione stiffened, and he stopped a few steps away, hands in his pockets - his _blue __jean _pockets. She never thought she'd see the day that the pureblood Prince of Slytherin wore Muggle clothing.

"Mal...Draco, good to see you," she said, forcing a tight smile.

His fabricated smile never fell from his face. She looked at him and was surprised to note that he'd filled into all his sharp edges and he wasn't _quite _as pale as he'd been in school.

"I was just talking to Beatrice, here," he motioned toward the barista who was scowling at Hermione, "about how they need to do away with all the paper cups and switch to only porcelain. It seems you agree. Fancy that!" He motioned toward the empty coffee cup in her hand with a smirk.

"Oh, um, yes. I prefer a real mug. Better for the environment." She cleared her throat.

Malfoy's smirk grew into a full smile as he noticed her discomfort. "Here, let me get your next drink," he snatched the mug from her hand and sat it on the counter.

"You really don't have to," she said, stepping forward.

"Nonsense. I'll get one myself and we'll catch up." He turned to Beatrice, who had lost her smile completely. "Beatrice, darling, I'll have a raspberry latte, and Hermione will have - " he smiled at her then, and she just stared, wide-eyed at him.

"Er, just a coffee. Please."

Beatrice punched the numbers on the till a little harder than was necessary. Malfoy paid, that fabricated, handsome smile on his face, and placed a few Muggle bills into the jar beside the register before winking at the now angry teen behind the counter. He turned to face Hermione and smirked. She found she preferred his signature half-smile to the fabricated one he'd gotten so go at wearing for the press and lovely young baristas. He motioned with his chin and walked past her. With legs that felt wooden, she turned and followed him to the other side of the counter where their drinks were being made.

"So, what've you been up to, Granger?" he asked nonchalantly, that same easy smile on his face, as he leaned against the counter.

"Well," she shifted her shoulder bag on her shoulder, wishing she'd asked for her coffee to go. "I've been working for the Ministry, in the Beasts Division, working for equal rights for various creatures and species for the last few years." She lifted her chin, expecting him to laugh, but instead he nodded.

"I'd expect nothing less from Hermione Jean Granger," he said with a smile. "You always were one to fight for those who can't fight for themselves."

Hermione's coffee was handed to her, and she moved to the condiment bar to add some sugar, cream, and cinnamon, not sure how to respond to that almost-compliment. Draco watched, a small smile on her face, as if she were doing the most interesting thing in the world. She took a sip - just right - right as he was given his latte, which was a lovely pinkish color.

"Care to sit and chat?" he asked, sipping his latte. A small, pink bit of foam was on his upper lip for a moment before he licked it away. She hated that she watched his pink tongue dart out to wipe it away and suddenly wondered what that latte tasted like.

"Oh." She blushed. "Sure. I'm just over here." She walked back to her cushioned chair, which was adjacent to another, and she sat, curling her legs under her. She felt very conscious of the fact that she was in nothing but a pair of old, hole-filled jeans and a green Harpies tee shirt that Ginny had given her for Christmas when she announced her placement on the team.

He sat, crossing his ankle over his knee - he wore fine leather shoes and what had to be designer jeans - and watched her over the rim of his cup.

"What about you?" she asked, holding her wide-mouthed mug with both hands. "What have you been up to since Hogwarts?" She'd read things in the paper - he was engaged to the beautiful and glamorous Astoria Greengrass, branching away from the Malfoy standards to start his own company selling state of the art racing brooms - but it was only polite to ask. Besides, Rita Skeeter wrote a lot of the articles, and that meant there was a good chance a good portion of it had been fabricated.

"I have my own company," he said, sipping his pink latte again. "We sell racing brooms made from ethically sourced materials."

"I thought I saw that in the papers. I think that's wonderful." She surprised herself when her positive tone was genuine. "Do you see anyone from Hogwarts still?" she asked, shifting in her chair slightly to get more comfortable.

"I see Blaise Zabini from time to time. He's been traveling all over Europe, sowing his wild oats, but he stays with me whenever he's back in London." He sipped his drink in thought. "And I saw Pansy last year at her wedding. She married Ernie MacMillan, believe it or not."

"Ernie? Really?" Hermione smiled. "But he wasn't a pureblood, was he?"

Draco smirked and shook his head. "Times have changed, Granger. Haven't you heard?"

She couldn't help but blush as she sipped her coffee. "Yes, I suppose I have heard that." She grinned, surprising herself, yet again. "And what about yourself?" she asked. "Plan to follow in Pansy's footsteps anytime soon?"

At this, his smile fell slightly, but he quickly plastered it back on - fabricated. He sipped his latte. "I've been seeing Astoria Greengrass for quite some time. Her sister, Daphne, was in our year."

"I remember Daphne. Vaguely," she said, sitting her mug on the table. "Congratulations. I've seen your photos in the paper, and she's truly lovely."

He smiled that fake smile again and looked away. "How're Potter and Weasley?" he changed the topic after a moment, his previous lightheartedness gone from his voice. It occurred to her that she rather liked it better when he was smiling and chatting, and that she was rather enjoying this conversation.

"Harry's well. He's on track to be the Head of the Auror Division in the next few years. And Ron," she sighed. There was no reason to pretend all was well, as she once would have. "Ron is still Ron. He works at the joke shop with George. And we, well, we broke up. Yesterday. He's at my flat now getting all of his things. It's why I'm here. Hiding." She shrugged, attempting nonchalance.

Draco put his mug down and leaned forward with what seemed to be genuine remorse written across his face. "That's a shame, Granger. If I'd known, I wouldn't have asked." She was taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Oh, it's all right. Really." She picked up her coffee again to have something to do with her hands. "We've been on and off since Hogwarts. It's a relief, really, for it finally be _done_." She took a sip.

"Well," he said, sitting back, "if it's any consolation, you can do much better. And I'm certain the rest of the wizarding world would agree with me." He quirked an eyebrow at her and nodded.

She stared at him for a moment, and then with a broad smile, she leaned toward him. "Are you _really_ Draco Malfoy?" she asked with a smirk on her face.

He smiled, a little sadly, and laughed. "Yes, Granger. The one and only."

"It's just - " she swung her legs down to lean closer to him. "You don't seem like the Malfoy I remember."

"Well, that's because I'm _not_ the Malfoy you remember." He stared at her, his gray eyes bright, and she found that she believed him. But just in case...

"All right, new and improved Draco Malfoy, tell me something _only _I would know. Just to make sure we're not dealing with polyjuice." She smirked, and he smirked right back.

"In third year, I caught you and your friends sneaking down to see that blasted Hippogriff, and when I insulted you, you gave me a right hook, straight to the face, and broke my nose." He rubbed the side of it as if it still ached.

She scoffed. "That story circulated like crazy, though. Anyone would know that I punched you!"

"True, but _no _one knew that you also sent me some Pain-Free Paste via owl the next day, with a note that just said, _Sorry about your face."_

Her eyes opened in shock and she couldn't help the laugh that slipped out as she stared at him, incredulous. "You knew that was me?"

He smiled. "Only you would break my nose and then find a way to try to make amends while _still_ keeping the upper hand with an underhanded compliment." He scoffed.

She regarded him for a moment over the rim of her coffee, which had cooled. "Well, I was. Sorry about your face, that is," she deadpanned.

He grinned, any hint of sadness from their talk of his relationship gone, and Hermione found self grinning in return.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was not the kind of man who normally sat in little coffee houses, chatting with old school mates. And he definitely was not the kind of man who smiled and laughed freely in front of someone he'd once thought an enemy, where just anyone might see.

And yet, here he was, after coming in to flirt with Beatrice the barista so she would talk his company up to her father, who happened to own the Appleby Arrows, sitting and conversing with none other than Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire.

He was talking with her. Laughing with her. And, surprisingly enough, flirting with her.

Her bag, which was sitting on the ground next to her foot, was open a bit. Feeling mischievous, he looked in and to no one's surprise, he saw a book. She squawked when he reached into said bag and pulled the book from it, turning it over in his hands.

"Is this a history?" he asked, looking at the colorful cover with one eyebrow quirked.

"No," she said, laughing lightly as she snatched it away. She trailed her fingers over the cover as one might stroke a kitten. "It's fiction. It's about the government being out to _get_ the common man by controlling everything. It's quite good." She lifted her chin in a way that Draco knew meant she was feeling defensive.

This afternoon was too enjoyable for him to want to mess it up. He nodded, crossing his arms across his chest, and sat back. "Muggle fiction, then?"

She nodded, stiffly, and he steepled his hands in front of his face. "I've not read much Muggle fiction. Any recommendations? I'm trying to broaden my horizons."

She looked at him skeptically, which he'd expected. But then answered him honestly, which he hadn't. "What genres do you like?" She sipped her coffee, which he knew was as cold as his latte.

"Classical literature is a personal favorite, but I've been known to dabble in fantasy a bit." He picked up his cold latte and sipped it, enjoying the sweetness of the raspberry blending with the bitterness of the coffee. "Tolkien is a favorite of mine," he baited.

"Tolkien was a Muggle," she said, brows furrowing.

"Oh, he was no Muggle. He was just ostracized from our world after he published those books, painting magic the way he did," Draco said, lifting his eyebrows. "I have an official autobiography, signed by the wizard himself, if you'd like to borrow it sometime." Her eyes lit up and he had to hold back a grin.

"Oh, well, yes. I'd like that very much," she said, her smile lighting up her face, making her warm eyes sparkle.

"You can borrow it today, if you'd like," he said on a whim. Her eyes popped wide. It was such a lovely, honest expression that he felt his heart stutter. His mouth continued on as if it had a mind of its own. "I have my own house now, fresh start and all, but the library is still impressive." Like the moment when you're about to fall of your broom, but catch yourself at the last moment, and your heart races and your knees shake - that's what this offer felt like. But still, he kept going. "You're more than welcome to borrow whatever you'd like."

She stared at him for a moment, her warm, brown eyes searching his face for any sort of ill intent, but she didn't seem to find any, because she said, "All right," with a smile. He found he couldn't keep from grinning. "After I finish my coffee, of course." She sipped her cold coffee, watching him with those lovely, round eyes.

"Of course," he nodded, trying not to drink his own cold beverage too quickly.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment, and Draco felt the easy-going nature of their encounter slipping away. He desperately wanted it back. "Harpies fan?" he asked, motioning toward her shirt.

"What?" She looked down, as if she'd forgotten what she was wearing. Adorable. "Oh, not really. Ginny Weasley plays for them now. Got this as a gift for me last Christmas." She shrugged and tugged at the tee shirt. He noticed how the neck was stretched a little too much, and how relaxed she looked in it.

"I never took you for much of a quidditch fan in school." He was itching to gulp his coffee and share his library with her. Astoria didn't care for books and it had been ages since he'd had a chance to share literature with anyone.

"I came to nearly every match," she said, lifting one eyebrow in what he thought was supposed to be an intimidating way. _Adorable._

"Always with a _book_," he added, nodding toward the book in her hands.

"Yes, well, I will still _there _wasn't I?" She smirked at him and he felt something warm in his gut. It felt dangerous.

"Valid point." He drank the last of his latte, and saw that she'd also finished her coffee. His hands felt clammy. "Well, if you'll let me take your mug up to the front, we can head over to my house so you can borrow that book." He took her mug to the counter, and when he turned back, she was standing, bag over her shoulder, with the most painfully awkward look on her face - a far cry from her previously relaxed demeanor. He opened the door to the coffee house, making sure to wave to Beatrice on his way out. He'd forgotten that charming the girl was his goal as soon as he'd seen Hermione, but he could always come back another time.

"There's an apparition point a few streets down," he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. "If you don't mind, we'll side-along."

"All right," she said, her easy demeanor gone, replaced with obvious trepidation. This one wore her emotions on her sleeve.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, given our history - " he nodded, suddenly awkward himself, "I could pop over and get it, then bring it back." He felt disappointment start to creep in at the thought.

"What? Oh, no. I'm not uncomfortable," she lied. Then she laughed. "Well, I mean, yes, I am, but not because of our past. It's just. It's rather stupid." She tucked a curl behind her ear. She was wearing it pulled back in a bun on top of her head, held in place by a yellow, number 2 pencil. Typical swotty Granger. He found he rather liked the look.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not stupid," he said, fighting the urge to walk a little closer to her. What was he doing? He was to be engaged to Astoria soon. He shouldn't be inviting a fascinating, beautiful witch back to his home. But no, he was just reacquainting himself with an old classmate. It didn't matter that she was lovely, or that he enjoyed talking with her, because he was only inviting her to borrow a book. He was simply being polite.

She took a deep breath, her eyes on the pavement in front of them as they walked. "I've been with one man for the better part of five years, and while I know this is _not_ a _date _\- " she laughed awkwardly, "I have this little voice in my head telling me it's inappropriate to be going to your home. Alone. For Ron's sake." She shook her head, another curl flying loose. "And more specifically, I keep wondering what he would say if he knew I was going to _your_ home." She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. "See? Stupid."

"I think it makes sense," he said, motioning with one hand that they should turn into an alley to reach the apparition point. "To be honest, I had the same thoughts. Well, sort of." He cleared his throat. "Not about what Weasley might think, but that it might be inappropriate for me to invite you to my home, what with Astoria not being aware." She slowed her steps and he hasted to explain. "But then I reminded myself that we're just two people, catching up, sharing books. Nothing off about that." He felt his heart in his throat, very much wanting her to keep walking with him.

"That's true," she said slowly as she picked up her pace again. He felt his muscles unclench.

They reached the apparition point and with a quick flick of her wand, Hermione cast a temporary silencing charm, as was protocol, so no Muggles would hear the _crack._

Draco offered her his arm, and she lifted her chin as if steeling herself before stepping to his side and taking it. Without thinking, he covered her hand with his, and with a turn and a crack, they disappeared.

* * *

Hermione hated side-along apparition, and stumbled slightly when they appeared in the yard of a fairly large house. Draco's hand, which was covering her own, steadied her, but he removed it as soon as she was on her feet.

When his hand had touched hers, she'd started, her cheeks rising in a blush in the split second before they spiraled into nothingness. When he pulled his hand away, she reeled just a little.

"Thanks," she said, stepping away and fixing her curls that were coming loose by tucking them behind her ears. She remembered that her hair was being held up by a pencil and blushed again.

"Right this way," he said, motioning toward the house. It was smaller than she'd expected, but still larger than average. The Manor, from her brief, terrified memories of it, was much, _much _larger. Palatial, even. But this house was much more like a typical mansion.

As they walked in, Hermione realized she felt underdressed. Her ripped jeans felt out of place, and her tee-shirt felt like an abomination. And her hair, which hadn't been combed in at least a day and was literally being held up with a chewed, Muggle writing utensil, felt like an affront to the walls themselves. She imagined Astoria - who she always saw in the paper with long, perfect curls, perfectly pressed and polished - standing where she was standing and she immediately wanted to hide.

"Would you like a tour?" he asked, smiling at her, and she blushed. She'd been staring all around like a tourist in a bit city.

"Oh, no. Just the library will be fine." She suddenly wanted to curtsy, but didn't because she knew that was ridiculous. Nothing had changed in the last few minutes. The man she was following down a long hallway filled with large, oak doors to his personal library was still the man who drank raspberry lattes and crossed his legs and sat in little cafes to talk about books.

He opened the last door on the right and motioned for her to walk in ahead of him. She stepped in and immediately stopped, awestruck, though it wasn't as large as she'd expected.

Over a dozen bookshelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, with gaps between a few for two huge windows. There was a fireplace surrounded by two wingback chairs, as well as a love seat.

"It's beautiful," she said as her eyes drank it all in, wanting to spend more than just an afternoon in this space. She could spend days, weeks, in here, and never get tired of it. When she met his gaze, he was smiling.

"The book I mentioned is just over here," he said, putting his hand on the small of her back and guiding her toward a shelf near the chairs. She fought the urge to shiver at his touch. It felt intimate, though she assumed he was just being polite, as he'd been brought up in a pureblooded household. With deft fingers, he plucked the book from the shelf and handed it to her.

Determined to prove him wrong - she _knew _Tolkien was a Muggle - she flipped the book open and read the inside cover. "I'll be damned," she said before looking up. "Tolkien _was _a wizard. How did I never know that?" She turned back to the book, flipping to the first page with his signature on it. "I suppose it makes sense," she said almost to herself, bringing to book closer to her face. A stray curl escaped and she absently blew it out of her face.

"You're more than welcome to browse," he said, a smile in his voice. "I'm the only one who reads any of them."

"If I were Astoria, I'd be in here every single day," she said, then realized her mistake. She'd noticed that every time Astoria was mentioned, his face grew sad. She looked up, and sure enough, his smile had fallen. He caught her looking, though, and quickly pasted that fake, manufactured smile back on his face. "Well, consider this an open invitation to pop by and borrow books anytime you'd like."

"I may take you up on that." She grinned, rewarded when his fabricated smiled warmed into a real one, and turned toward the shelves.

* * *

With her back turned, Draco looked at her - _really _looked - in a way that he probably shouldn't. Her black and white converse sneakers had a bit of paint on them. She was wearing jeans with holes in the knees that were stretched out and didn't quite fit properly. Her Holyhead Harpies tee shirt looked to have been washed one too many times, and her hair was a mess, all knotted and stuck up with a pencil. She looked like an urchin off the street.

And somehow, even though she was the opposite of any person who'd ever stepped foot in a Malfoy home, regardless of her blood status, she seemed to _fit_ in this room. He watched her trail her fingers over the spines of books as one might gently touch a lover's cheek, a look of contentment on her face, and for the briefest of moments, he had the urge to let his hand trail along her hip in the same way.

* * *

Hermione held the Tolkien autobiography in her hands and walked along the shelves. There were so many books, mostly fiction, some nonfiction, that she couldn't take take them all in. Her fingers brushed the spines, seriously considering taking him up on his offer of using his library whenever she wanted. She could just picture herself with a pile of books, sitting on the love seat, for hours on end.

She turned to him, to ask how many books she could borrow today, and caught him watching her with the strangest look on his face.

"A drink," he said, eyes going wide. "I mean, would you _like _a drink?" he asked, clearing his throat, his cheeks tinged pink.

"Oh! That would be lovely," she said with a nod, feeling her breath catch. She would have a drink, and still be able to look at more books. They'd already gotten coffee. This was no different. Just two old acquaintances catching up.

"I'll be right back then," he gave a little wave, then grimaced as if he regretted it, before darting out of the room. If it weren't Draco Malfoy, she'd think he was nervous. Which was ridiculous.

When Draco came back, pushing a drink cart - of course he'd have a portable bar - Hermione had already made a stack of over ten books. He chuckled when he saw.

"Too many?" she asked with a grimace and he laughed again, shaking his head.

"I'm just glad they'll be read." He wheeled the cart in, parked it in front of the cold fireplace, and locked the wheels. "I wasn't sure what you drank," he said, absently arranging various bottles, "so I brought the lot."

Hermione looked at the books she hadn't yet browsed and sighed before joining him at the cart. "Anything's fine," she said, eyeing the crystal decanters incredulously. "I'm not picky."

"Have you ever tried Fairy Ale?" he asked, eyebrow lifted. She shook her head and he took the liberty of pouring her a glass of opalescent liquid. "It burns a little, like firewhiskey, but it's quite sweet. Just don't drink it too fast. It can make you a bit dizzy."

She sniffed the glass and gave it a small sip before a grin broke out on her face. "Oh, that's lovely!" She took another sip. "Why have I never had it?"

"It's fairly rare," he said, pouring a glass for himself. "Each bottle is about 1000 galleons."

Hermione held the sweet, fiery liquid in her mouth before letting it slide down her throat. He was watching her, waiting for a reaction. He expected her to get flustered, or to be awestruck, or to react _somehow _to how much it cost. He wanted to see how she reacted to his money. She wondered how many people got close to him for his money alone. She wondered if _Astoria_ had gotten close to him for that reason alone, but felt instantly ashamed of that thought.

"It's lovely," she said with a smile. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

He took a sip of his own ale, and smiled in return, looking relaxed. "What books have you found so far?"

Hermione smiled broadly as she looked down at her stack and listed off the titles, earning small comments from him as he shared his experience with each one.

They spent the next few hours sitting in the wingback chairs, sipping fairy ale, and talking about books. They quickly fell into a comfortable back and forth. As the conversation drifted to their pasts - the fun parts, not the painful ones - she found herself laughing as he told her stories from school, anecdotes from the Slytherin common room. And she was surprised when he laughed, without mocking, as she told stories about Harry and Ron pranking each other when they were young.

On her fourth glass of fairy ale, Hermione was feeling very warm. She didn't feel intoxicated, but she was sure it was just a delayed reaction.

"So," she said, swirling the little bit of fairy ale left in her glass. "Please stop me if I'm overstepping, but - " she turned toward him, angling her knees toward him, feeling brave, "you and Astoria have been together for years. You own this beautiful home - "

"You've only seen the library," he said with a small laugh.

"Still, I know it's beautiful." She shrugged. The fairy ale made her feel brave. "But as I was saying, it's a Saturday night, and you're here at said beautiful home with me, instead of with your fiancée."

"She's not my fiancée," he said quickly, taking a sip. His smile was gone, but she pressed on anyway, suddenly needing to know.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just assumed." She sipped her ale, hating that it was almost gone, and hating that it was making her so recklessly brave. "Girlfriend then. But still, why isn't she here?" Her voice was quiet and she felt herself lean toward him the tiniest bit.

Draco looked into his ale for a long moment before throwing it back and placing the cup on the table between them. He turned toward her slightly, leaning on his knees, and sighed. "I suppose I should give you the answer I've rehearsed. It's what's considered proper, not to air any dirty laundry for just anyone, to maintain a certain appearance for the public." He looked into her eyes and she felt herself leaning forward even more, toward his stormy grey depths. "But I'm tired of it, to be honest. Tired of the _proper_ stories in place of the truth." He sighed and brushed his hair back from his forehead, making him look entirely vulnerable and human. "The truth is, though Astoria and I have been together for years, and are scheduled to become engaged soon, I'm not sure I want to be with her anymore."

She met his gaze evenly, feeling strange butterflies in her stomach. _Scheduled to be engaged. _What a terrible way to live. "Why don't you want to be with her?" Another sip of her ale, for more courage. "She's beautiful," she half-whispered.

"She is," he agreed, clasping his hands in front of him with a nod. "But, we don't talk. We don't share any interests." He sat back, hands raking through his hair again. "It's always just been an _arrangement._" He sighed.

"You're not happy," she said, finishing her ale and placing the empty glass beside his.

"I'm not happy," he admitted with a huff, as if for the first time.

Hermione reached over the table, grasped his hand, and gave it a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Draco. I can't imagine how hard it must be to carry that sort of responsibility."

He looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face, and squeezed her hand back. "Thank you, Hermione."

The clock above the mantle chimed, softly, nine times, and Hermione pulled her hand away, suddenly feeling too close. "Well, it's late," she said, standing, waiting for the dizziness from the ale, but it never came. "Do you have a floo I could use?" Her cheeks were red.

He stood and nodded, hands going in his pockets. "I had quite a bit of fun today," he said, a sad smile on his face.

"Me too. Surprisingly," she smiled and gave a little laugh. "Thank you for coffee. And the fairy ale."

"Don't forget your books," he said, stepping past her to pick up the stack.

She blushed and tucked a loose curl that kept escaping behind her ear. "_And _for letting me borrow your books."

"Let me get you something to carry them in," he said, eyes wide, as he placed them on the table.

"It's OK. Really." Hermione, having gotten used to their easy back and forth over the last few hours, didn't understand why this was suddenly so awkward. Sitting down to coffee together? Draco inviting her to his home? Those things should have been awkward, not her leaving.

He went to step past her, presumably to get something for her carry the books in, and she put her hands up to stop him. "Really," she said, "I can get them. I used to carry this many books daily at Hogwarts." She laughed. "I appreciate it, though."

He stepped back and ran his hand through his hair again and looked at her with that unreadable expression again. "Thank you," he said with a nod, "for today, I mean. I needed this. Conversation. Companionship. A good laugh. All of it."

His voice - hollow and desolate - tugged at Hermione's heartstrings. Without thinking about what she was doing, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his torso, hugging him as she might hug Harry after a particularly bad day.

"You _deserve_ to be _happy_, Draco" she said, her cheek pressed against his chest. Slowly, his arms went around her in return. "Regardless of how, you _deserve_ it. You shouldn't settle for less."

He was quiet for a long moment, and Hermione started to feel awkward, standing, holding each other as close as they were. Her heart suddenly racing, she pulled back, only to have his arms around her stop her from getting very far. She looked up and met his eyes. The way he looked at her made her toes tingle.

"The fairy ale seems to have really done a number on us, huh?" she squeaked out, hoping to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.

"Fairy ale can't make you drunk," he said, hands locked around her, face a conflicted mask of indecision. "It just makes you dizzy and lightheaded if you drink it too fast, and warm and calm if you drink it slowly." His voice was low and it sent chills through her body.

"Oh." Hermione's heart was racing, her skin was tingling, and with a start she realized it wasn't the ale, but her proximity to the man in front of her.

"You deserve to be happy, too," he said, his voice a whisper. "You're funny, kind, and just brilliant to talk to. Weasley is a daft fool for letting you go."

Hermione blushed. When had she stopped trying to get out of his embrace? She should still try to back away, but she couldn't. Or rather, she didn't want to.

"Astoria is a very lucky woman," she said, her hands leaving his waist to rest against his chest. Her body was doing things without her brain's permission.

He stared at her for a long moment. She waited with baited breath to see what he would do. He took a slow breath, then leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. - feather light. It was a chaste kiss. It could have been a kiss between two old friends, it was so light, but where his skin had touched hers tingled and she felt unsteady on her feet.

He pulled back and searched her eyes, gray and unsure. All thoughts of Ron, of Astoria, of getting home to read through this massive stack of books, left her mind as she lost herself in the stormy orbs staring back at her.

He seemed to see something in her eyes, some sort of permission, because he leaned forward again and she felt her eyes drifting closed as she waited anxiously for his lips to touch her against.

Then, the reality of what was happening set in and Hermione, coming back to her senses, jerked away.

"I should really go," she said, stepping back and bumping into the drink cart in her haste. "It's late." She gripped the edge of the cart to steady herself. Her heart raced.

Draco's hands were shoved in his pockets. His pale cheeks tinged pink. "I apologize, Hermione," he said, rocking on his heels like he wanted to come closer and was fighting against it. "I just got caught up in the moment. I shouldn't have done that."

"What? Oh, it's fine," she said breathily, fingers gripping the cart behind her so hard it hurt. "Not a problem. really. Er, where's your floo?"

Draco dropped his head for a moment, and when he looked back up, the sad expression he'd only worn when he talked about Astoria was back on his face. It cracked something inside her and she loosened her grip on the cart as she briefly considered going to him to offer him comfort.

"Here," he motioned toward the cold fireplace with a jerk of his head. "It used to be in the sitting room, but I thought if I moved it in here, I might be able to get Astoria to sit with me and talk." He sounded so vulnerable. Then he sighed and shook his head slightly, moving to retrieve the bag of floo powder from above the mantle to offer to her.

It was such a simple want - to spend time talking with the witch he was involved with - that Hermione, again, moved without thinking. She grabbed his arm that held the floo powder and he stopped. "I shouldn't presume to tell you what to do," she said, looking up to him. "I have absolutely no right, and it's most assuredly not my place. But - " she paused to wet her lips, knowing she was overstepping her bounds, but needed to say something. "But after _all_ we went through when we were kids - all _you_ went through - you deserve to find what gives you _joy_." Her fingers tightened on his arm.

His arm flexed, his hand clenching around the bag of floo powder. She let go, thinking she'd made him mad.

"I'm glad I ran into you today," he said, chin ducked toward his chest slightly. The look in his eyes made her wish she had the drink cart to hold onto. His eyes were stormy again and her cheeks flooded with heat.

"I am too," she said, swallowing. He hadn't moved closer, but his gaze weighted her to her spot. "Thank you for the coffee. And the ale. And, the books, of course."

He smiled a small smile, eyes still smoldering, and said, "You said that already."

She choked out a laugh. "Right. Well. I'll be seeing you?" She hadn't meant for it to come out as a question.

He stepped directly in front of her, but didn't get any closer. "Hermione, I meant what I said, about you coming here anytime to - to use the library. Day or night, come take what you need. It would make me happy to share it with you."

Hermione faltered. If she were leaving Harry's house, or even Ron's - before they'd dated anyway - she would hug them goodbye. But she'd hugged him once, and he'd kissed her. Or, almost kissed her. Or, something. They'd barely brushed lips. Maybe she was overreacting. Still, hugging him again seemed like a bad idea.

"Thank you. But, I'll owl first," she said.

"You don't have to." His eyes were wide and his breaths were rapid.

"I wouldn't want to be rude." She tucked that same wild curl behind her ear.

"I insist," he said, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Well, all right then." She looked up at him and blushed again. "Have a good night," she said, then, because she always hugged her friends, and he _felt _like a friend now, and she wanted to prove to herself that their almost kiss was really nothing, she held out her arms and he stepped into her embrace. Slowly.

As his arms snaked around her, she realized this hug immediately felt more intimate than any hug Harry or Ron had ever given her, even when she and Ron were together. For just a moment, she let her self sink into the feeling, enjoying the warmth and strength of his arms. He enveloped her, his cheek resting on her head, and she let her eyes drift closed, forgetting Astoria, and Ron, and the outside world, as she pressed her cheek to his chest just above his heart.

She sighed without meaning to and felt him tense for a moment before his hands, flush against her lower back, started to move in small circles. It felt _so nice. _

"I should go," she whispered, and he nodded, cheek still against her hair.

He was so_ warm._ So solid.

She tightened her arms around him, her body acting of it's own accord again, though she was truly not ready to let go. His hands moved to the middle of her back, pressing gently and holding her close. He leaned his head up and she felt his lips press a hot, dry kiss to her forehead. It, too, was chaste, but her skin heated as if it were on fire. She squeezed her eyes closed, heart pounding.

After a long moment, she leaned back again to look up at him. His eyes wore a question and she didn't rust herself to answer it the right way. "Draco," she whispered, her traitorous fingers gripping his shirt.

His mouth was on hers before she could complete her thought, let alone her sentence. Her mind was reeling. _He's with Astoria. You __**just **__left Ron. You need to stop. _But then her hands were in his soft, blonde hair and his hands were tracing her jaw leaving warm, electric trails. He reached up and pulled the pencil from her hair and she gasped into his mouth as he shoved his hands in the tangles, pulling slightly to tilt her head back the smallest bit more.

He released her mouth and started to softly bite and nip down her neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, and he growled against her pulse point, making her shiver and arch toward him. His mouth trailed down, pushing the stretched hem of her tee shirt down just enough to kiss her sternum, his tongue darting out to taste the hollow of her throat.

She pulled him up, attacking his mouth, hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. She started to work them, suddenly _needing _to feel his skin. He held her to him, kissing her, gripping her with fingers that would surely bruise. In her haste, a button popped off, and then another. With his strong arms, he lifted her and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He started walking, stopping at the door to library to press her against it. He kissed her jaw, her neck, all while she worked to undo those last buttons, desperate to feel the warm skin of his chest.

As the cold of the door met her lower back where her shirt had ridden up, her brain started to work again. Through the haze of desire that consumed her, through the hot trail he left wherever his mouth or hands went, she remembered. _He was with someone else, someone he was to be engaged to very soon. _With every ounce of will power she had, she pulled back. With shaking hands, she grabbed his face and she _made_ him look at her.

"Draco," she said, holding his gaze, feeling his labored breaths as his chest rose and fell against hers. "We need to stop this." It hurt her to say the words, and they came out as a whisper.

His hair was fringed over his eyes and she ached to reach up and brush it back, to forget what was _right _and instead claim his lips. But the thought of Astoria, and even Ron, helped her refrain.

His fingers dug into her hips where he held her and his eyes bored into hers. She hoped she could remember what those eyes looked like later, as that was the only thing she'd have of this moment. They were molten and beautiful.

His eyes drifted closed, his mask slipping back into place, and he leaned his forehead against hers as he let her slide to the ground, still not letting her go, his body flush with hers. Her fingers rested on his bare chest, where his buttons had come loose, and she could feel the pounding of his heart against her fingertips. His skin was smooth and warm.

"I don't want to stop," he whispered.

Her fingers shook where they touched him. "It's not right," she said, bringing Astoria to the front of her mind to help steel herself against kissing him again.

Draco kept his eyes closed as he stepped away from. Hermione's hands fell away and from his skin and her fingertips ached with the loss.

"I'm sorry," she said, wanting to comfort him, and knowing it would just make it worse. She felt tears well in her eyes, and tried to keep them at bay.

"No. No, you're right. This isn't right," he said, voice husky with what sounded like grief. "If it's all right with you, I know it's rude, but I'm going to go on to bed. I think - " he finally looked at her and his eyes swam with sadness. "I think it would be too hard to watch you go, if I'm being honest."

She nodded, biting the inside of her lip, and grabbed her shoulder bag from the floor.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said. He looked at her once more, his gray eyes lingering on her face, before he slipped out of the library.

Hermione stood and stared at the closed door for several heartbeats. She should go. She should grab some floo power, go home, take a cold shower, and have a good cry over whatever this would have been. But she found she couldn't move.

She was sure, _positive,_ that he was in his room at this very moment, blaming _himself_ for what had just happened. Beating himself up for betraying the woman he was with. He was probably panicking, worried, maybe even afraid. But it wasn't his fault. It wasn't entirely hers, either, but it wasn't entirely his, either.

If there was one thing Hermione was good at, it was convincing people of things. She'd convinced Harry of many things over the course of their friendship, and now she needed to convince Draco of something. She would go to his room - but not go in, of course - and tell him it had been _all_ her fault, make him realize he hadn't been in the wrong. She would apologize, and he would relax, and then she would go. She couldn't leave here knowing he was blaming himself for things that got just a little out of hand.

With a deep breath, she left the library. The hall was dark, but one room a few doors down had light shining below it. She stopped in front of it and lifted her hand to knock, but then froze. This was daft. Coming to his room was asking for more trouble. She needed to leave, but she again, she couldn't get her feet to move.

The door opened on it's own after a moment and there stood Draco. His face was a mask of anguish. His shirt was unbuttoned, a few buttons missing from earlier. He must have been listening at the door for the sound of the floo, to see if she would leave. Or maybe, to see if she might stay.

She opened her mouth, ready to apologize, ready to convince him not to worry, that it was all her fault - a grieving girl getting over her first love - but not words came out.

His eyes were wide as he said, "Tell me what to do," his voice husky.

She opened her mouth again. "I don't know," she said, her own voice cracking with an emotion she refused to recognize or acknowledge.

The sadness in his eyes became determination. He stalked toward her in an almost predatory fashion and she felt heat build in her belly. He stopped a breath away, his stormy eyes turned to steel.

"I'm going to kiss you," he said, his voice a whispered growl, but he didn't touch her. "Unless you tell me not to." He held his hands at his sides, fists clenched. "You have to _tell me not to._"

Hermione opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She needed to tell him. She couldn't let this happen. _It wasn't right. _Her heart pounded.

Their eyes locked in the silence, and he stepped into her just as she stepped into him, colliding silently in the semi-dark.

He dragged her into his room, hands and mouth everywhere at once. In a frenzy, he pulled her bag from her shoulder and dropped it on the ground.

She kissed his neck, clawed his shoulders, all while pulling at his clothes. She pushed his button down over his shoulders and noticed him cringe as it fell from his arm. She knew what was there - his Dark Mark - and she didn't look. She kept her attention on his lips, his shoulders, his chest. He pulled her tee-shirt over her head and dropped it before clawing at the button and zipper of her jeans.

Their clothes rapidly fell away, tossed to various parts of the room, until they were only in their underthings. Hermione's hands had developed a mind of their own as she pulled his boxers down. His hard length popped up, fully erect, and she gasped. He wasbigger than Ron, who was her only real frame of reference.

With his strong arms, he gathered her against him and kissed her, rolling them down onto the bed. He pushed her onto her back, trailing his hands down her spine beneath her, unhooking her bra with a single, fluid motion. She finished taking it off and threw it as he pulled her knickers down her legs so roughly she heard them rip.

With his two, warm hands he pushed her legs apart, and without preamble, kissed her wet, hot core. He licked up and down before delving inside with his velvety tongue. She groaned as he held her hips down, sucking and licking and kissing at her most sensitive area. Her fingers found his hair and she tugged him closer as he feasted on her in a way no one ever had. When he slipped his first finger in, she gasped. He moved his finger in and out a few times before adding a second, stretching her to accommodate his size. Her hips lifted and pressed against his mouth and hand. He added a third finger and crooked it, hitting that spot she'd only ever been able to reach herself. She gasped, bucking against him, her fingers in his hair pulling so hard she knew it hurt. He worked her, alternatively pumping and bending his fingers, licking and suckling her nub, until she crested that perfect wave. She screamed as she came, and he continued to lick and work her with his hand until her orgasm slowed.

Abruptly, he pulled his hand away and slip up so that he was face to face with her. Never had a man kissed her down there in such a way. Never had some come undone against a man's hand and face in such a raw, sensual way. Whenever Ron had gone down on her, he'd insisted on washing his face and brushing his teeth immediately afterward, ruining the mood immediately, before they shagged. But Draco looked down at her now, his eyes like molten steel, his lips shining in the pale light, and kissed her deeply. She tasted herself on his lips and groaned into his mouth.

She felt his hard length against her stomach and reached between them to grab it. Her fingers didn't make it all the way around. He growled into her mouth as she guided him toward her opening. He was long, and wide, and Hermione eased herself onto his length, eyes going wide as he stretched her and filled her. He released her mouth and buried his face in her neck, groaning into the soft skin there as he slipped inside. When he was finally in her completely, he paused. She groaned as she wiggled beneath him, trying to get used to the feeling of being so very _full. _

"Draco," she breathed, his weight lifting so he could look at her, a look of rapture on his sweaty face. "Move. _Please__._"

He immediately started to move against her, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in. Every collision elicited a scream from her as she gripped his back, nails digging into the taut skin there.

"Oh, gods!" she screamed, legs hooking around his waist. She let go of his shoulders to grip the blankets beneath her. "Gods, Draco!" He sped up and she saw stars. He'd only been in her for a moment and already that perfect wave was edging near. "Oh, close. So close," she breathed as her breath was knocked from her. "So. Close." And then, there it was, only this climax was so much more than the last. Her back arched off the bed and her hands covered her mouth as she screamed into her fingers, eyes squeezed shut. He held her hips off the bed, sitting up on his knees, now moving at a fevered pitch. Her orgasm was still rolling through her, setting her nerve endings on fire in the most amazing way as he pumped in and out of her. Abruptly, he slowed and let his full weight fall on her. He buried his face in her neck again as he pounded into her one, two, three more times, and then she felt him tense all over, holding onto her as tightly as he could, as he, too, came completely undone.

After he was spent, muscles shaking, he leaned up enough to kiss her neck, lips barely brushing her skin. They were both drenched in sweat. Her hands drifted up to his shoulders and drew light circles there, feeling faint lines where her nails had left marks. She was so very tired, and felt so very satisfied. He placed gentle, open mouth kisses along her shoulder and she sighed as he worked his way up, over her jaw, and captured her lips so softly. She kissed him, their lips tugging at one another lazily, in a way that somehow more intimate than the mind blowing sex they'd just had.

As he kissed her, he pulled out of her, and she gasped into his mouth, already aching from his size as much as from the loss.

He tugged her toward him, pushing strands of sweaty hair off her face as he kissed her forehead, her hair, her lips.

Hermione lay there in his arms as reality slowly and painfully came back. She wanted to cry, wanted to apologize, wanted to ask him to leave Astoria, wanted to stay here with him for as long as she could. But she didn't know which she wanted to do first, so she waited, lying in his arms, as he stroked her skin with calloused fingers, until his breaths slowed and his arms, which held her firmly, went limp.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, she pushed herself up to see him. In the moonlight, he was beautiful - his face peaceful, his hair messy, his skin like porcelain.

She let herself lightly touch his cheek, his chest. She wanted to stay right here, but now that her mind had returned to her, she knew that being here was wrong. In the morning, he would see her, and he would be angry - with her and with himself. It would be awkward and painful to hear him ask her to leave. She looked down at him, fresh tears welling in his eyes, as she imagined what their friendship might have been like if she'd been strong and had stopped this from happening. She'd enjoyed their day so very much.

She imagined sitting in his library, arguing over the merits of a classic book. Going to coffee houses and talking about anything, really. She imagined learning his tells and welcoming him into the fold of her few friends. But now, that's all those things were - imaginings. After this - no matter how amazing, how mind-alteringly amazing, it was - a friendship would just be too awkward and too complicated.

A tear fell on his chest where she leaned over him and she gently kissed it away. To make things worse, along with a lost friendship, she sensed the loss of something else. Something passionate and beautiful that could only exist in another life. A second tear fell, and she knew if she didn't leave now, she never would.

In a moment of weakness, she leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. He rolled toward her in his sleep and she brushed back some of his hair. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, and he leaned toward her voice in his sleep, which made her heart ache.

As quietly as she could, she slipped from his arms and off the bed. She grabbed her wand and cast a contraceptive charm, then used a faint lumos to find all of her clothes. Her underwear was ripped so she stuffed it in her bag, which had fallen over and spilled by a chair. She stuffed her things back in it in a hurry as she pulled her clothes on, haphazardly.

With a final look back at Draco, sleeping peacefully in the moonlight, she left, pulling the door closed behind her.

She half-ran, half-tripped to the library. She swept past the books she was to borrow, leaving them because she knew she wouldn't be back to return them. With hands that shook, she grabbed floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. She said her address and stepped into the green flames just as sobs wracked her body.

* * *

Draco woke feeling happy - a feeling he hadn't truly experienced in years. He stretched into the sunlight and blindly felt for Hermione, only to meet a cold bed with rumpled blankets. His eyes popped open, and he sat up, his heart pounding uncomfortably.

She was gone.

He was up in a flash. He ran, naked, to the library, where he saw her stack of books. The bag of floo powder had toppled slightly and had spilled a little onto the mantle from where she'd taken some before she left.

_She'd left._ In the middle of the night, she'd left. He'd spent the day with her, talking, laughing, falling, and then he'd gone and ruined it. He should have waited. He shouldn't have pushed. He shouldn't have kissed her, shouldn't have made love to her. Just the thought of her body beneath his, warm and pliant, of her eyes heated and opened, made him shiver. He shouldn't have made love to her, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it either.

His hands scrubbed his face. It was summer, but he suddenly felt very cold.

With heavy feet, he walked back into his room. As he walked in to get dressed and figure out what to do next, something caught his eye beneath one of his chairs. He crouched down and pulled the novel she'd been reading at the coffee house from where it had fallen from her bag when he tossed it. _1984, _a book about people who weren't allowed to do as they pleased. When they'd talked about it at the café, she'd told him that the premise of the book was that people should be allowed to _do as they please, _as long as it didn't hurt others.

She'd told him the deserved to find his joy. To fight for it.

He grabbed his robe from the back of the bathroom door, slipped it over his shoulders, took the book in his hands. It was clear what he needed to do, and with the memory of her lips still on his, he had the courage to do it.

He sat at his desk, laying the book down as he gathered some parchment and a quill. He felt a sense of _rightness_ as he inked the quill and wrote.

_Astoria,  
Please meet with me for dinner tonight. The venue is up to you, but know that we need to discuss the status of our relationship, as the situation on my end of things has changed. I'll await your owl.  
__-Draco_

And then, he pulled out a second bit of parchment, his hands trembling slightly now, and with a smile on his face and a stutter in his heart, he began to write.

_Dear Hermione…_


	3. Epilogue: Unopened Letters

**OK, so this is TRULY the last piece of Magical Matches! My one-shot, became a two-shot, which is now a three-shot (is that a thing?), but this chapter is for real the last one. So, I hope you enjoy it! **

**Also, someone mentioned in a review that Hermione should be casting contraceptive charms. Let's just assume that, because she a modern, intelligent witch, she's been on the potion since she was 15. :) **

**I hope you enjoy it! If you do, be sure to review!**

* * *

Hermione lay in Draco's arms, basking in the afterglow of a wild afternoon spent entirely in his bedroom. Blankets were tangled around them, and he was currently lacing and unlacing their fingers, stroking each of her digits softly before squeezing her whole hand and starting the process all over again. She smiled into his chest and kissed it.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asked, his voice quiet. She leaned up and looked at him. He smirked as he shoved her wild hair away from her face. Her hair was always very large and tangled after they spent any amount of time together, mainly because he refused to let her leave it up, and he couldn't keep his hands out of it.

"You know you can ask me anything," she said, kissing his chest again and scooting closer.

"The letters I sent you," he looked at her hand as he played with her fingers, rubbing the pad over his thumb over her palm over and over. "You told me once you still had them. Do you?"

Hermione nodded against his chest. "They're in a box in my closet. Along with a few...other things." Her cheeks colored.

Draco tucked his chin to his chest so he could look her right in the eyes. "What other things?" he asked, moving his gentle massage of her hand up her arm, rubbing up and down from her elbow to her wrist.

She sat up, propping herself on her elbow. "Promise you won't laugh," she said, eyes wide, chin up.

"Cross my heart." He literally crossed his heart before pulling her back to him so he could continue rubbing the soft skin of her forearm.

"You were in the paper sometimes." She tucked her cheek against him so he couldn't see her face. "You and Astoria, and then just you. And I used to, well, I cut out a few photos and saved them." She pressed her eyes closed, ready for him to mock her, or freak out.

His ministrations on her arm paused for a moment, then continued. When she was brave enough to look up at him again, he was smirking at her, and she swatted his chest.

"I just." She pulled her arm away from him and leaned over him. He brushed her long, tangled curls over her shoulder again. "You know why I didn't read them. I was afraid of what they would say. I just _knew _you tell me what a mistake it was, and - " she pursed her lips. "And I wanted to hold onto the fantasy that it wasn't wrong. Even though I knew it_ was._"

"It wasn't a mistake." He said as he stretched his arms up and tucked them behind his head.

"It was wrong, _because_," she continued before he could interrupt, "of the timing. It was wrong, but I just couldn't let go of this fantasy that..." She stopped and slumped, but he immediately tugged her so that she was lying completely on his chest.

"What kind of fantasy?" he asked as he kissed her hair.

"This," she said, wrapping her arms around his ribs as she slipped to his other side and held onto one of his legs with both of hers. "I convinced myself that if I never had to read that you'd rejected me, or told me how wrong that night was, or how horrible I was, that I could pretend that _this _was possible."

At this he did chuckle. "And, ironically, if you'd just read them, we could have had your fantasy as our reality three years ago."

"I know." She groaned, rolling off of him and flopping back on the bed, pulling the blanket with her.

He rolled toward her, pulling on the blanket so it rolled her toward him. They lay, side by side, staring at one another.

"Would you consider reading them now? The letters?" he asked, finding her hand and lacing their fingers together in the few inches of space between them.

"Oh." She said, eyes opening wide as she squeezed his hand. "Of course. I just didn't think it would matter, now that we're - " she faltered. They'd been doing this - dates and overnights and book discussions - for weeks now, but they'd never given it a name. It was one thing they'd never talked about.

"Together," he finished, brows furrowing. "Surely you know that, Hermione." He let go of her hand to put his palm against her cheek, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. "For me, you're it. I'm all in."

In the least graceful way possible, she scooted so that she was pressed against him. "And you're it for me, Draco." She kissed him as her arms went around his neck and she felt his smile.

"If it's important to you," she said as she pulled away and kissed his jaw, "I'll read them tonight when I get home."

"You're not staying here tonight?" he asked, his expression falling and reminding her of a sad puppy. She laughed lightly and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I've stayed the last three," she said, playing with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. "I need to go home at least one night, so Ginny knows I'm still alive, and to get clothes."

"Fine," he huffed, pulling her as close as he possibly could before kissing her deeply.

* * *

When Hermione got home, Ginny and Blaise were watching a movie on the telly. It was still odd seeing them together. They assured both Hermione and Draco they weren't dating. And yet, Hermione hadn't seen Ginny without Blaise since the morning she saw them together at Draco's.

"You're here," Ginny noted, sitting up from where she'd been lounging against Blaise's chest.

"You say that like I don't live here." Hermione rolled her eyes as she dropped her bag on the kitchen table.

"Do you?" Ginny asked, her eyebrow cocked up, a smirk on her face to rival Draco's.

"I live here more than you," Blaise said, eyes never leaving the screen. Ginny had introduced him to the telly, and he was completely hooked.

"Draco thinks you're out of the country, you know," Hermione said, kicking her shoes off and sliding them under the kitchen table where she always sat for breakfast.

"Hmm," he said, his eyes focused on the screen. A commercial came on, and he finally looked away, pulling Ginny against him again as he met Hermione's gaze with a smile. "I'm surprised he came out of his bedroom long enough to notice, Granger." He winked at her. "Tell me, have you two eloped yet?"

Hermione blushed and scowled at him. "Not quite," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Are you two _finally_ willing to admit that you're dating?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and Blaise's grin grew. "I've no idea what you mean, Granger. Now, if you'll excuse me, my friend and I are going to continue watching this program. It's all about unsolved murder muggle murder mysteries from the 1970s. Fascinating stuff." He tucked Ginny into his side, and Ginny looked up at Hermione and winked.

Shaking her head with a smile, Hermione made her way to her room. She missed Draco already, but it wasn't healthy to not be able to be without him even for a day. So she would stay here tonight, and try not to bold back over this house first thing in the morning.

She went to her bathroom and took a quick shower. She would have liked to shower longer, but she was suddenly anxious to read the letters that she'd stored away for so long. She was anxious about reading them, and still, despite his assurances, nervous about what he had said in them. She changed into her pajamas - cotton shorts and a white tee shirt - before retrieving the box from the closet.

Box in hand, she sat in the middle of her bed. The photos she'd clipped were on top and she picked them up, one at a time, to really _look _at him. In all the time she'd been saving them, she hadn't gone back and looked at them.

Her finger traced the line of his jaw in the most recent one. He looked haggard. Word. She couldn't believe that, before now, she hadn't seen how sad he was.

Once the photos were set aside, she pulled out the stack of four letters. She was Hermione Granger, so of course she'd kept them in chronological order. The first letter, she'd received the day she'd left him his bed, hours after she'd gotten home, long after her tears had slowed to a trickle.

With her heart in her throat, she carefully broke the wax seal of the scrolled parchment.

_**July 3**_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Yesterday was the best day I've had in many, many years. Talking to you, laughing with you, it was like a breath of fresh air after having been trapped away. Even without what happened last night, it was the most wonderful day I could ever imagine._

_I think I know why you left before I woke up, and I just want you to know, I don't blame you. I took advantage of you last night, and it was wrong, and had I been in your shoes, I might have left, too. I know you only just ended your relationship with Weasley, and I should have been respectful of that, but after talking with you, getting to know you, it was like I couldn't help it. Not that that's an excuse, because it's not, it's just…I shouldn't have pushed you. I want to ask for your forgiveness, for being insensitive to what you were going through, for your heartache, but by that same token, I hope you don't totally regret what happened between us, because I most assuredly do not. _

_Gods, Hermione. Being with you last night was beyond words. Beyond comprehension. How did you manage to stroll into my life and in one day and change everything? Because you have. You've changed everything for me, and already, only a few hours into this new existence, I am so thankful._

_Being with you last night was perfect. You are perfect. The way your eyes light up when you're excited is perfect. The way you laugh is perfect. The passionate way you talk about the people (and the books) you love is perfect. The way you open yourself to others, even people like me, and give of yourself so freely is perfect. The way you feel against me when I hold you, when I kiss you, is perfect._

_And I know I'm moving fast. Extremely fast. But I can't help it. I just...I'd like to see you again, if you'll let me. _

_You left your books here, I noticed, so maybe you could come over to get them, soon, and we could talk. If you want. Or I could bring them to you. We could meet at the coffee house. Or anywhere you want. __Just, please let me talk to you, let me apologize in person for rushing things, and maybe even convince you to let me do something silly like hold your hand, or if that's too much, maybe you'll let me just be your friend._

_Oh, and before I forget, I'm having dinner with Astoria tonight. I'm going to end things. I can't go back to the frigid life that was chosen for me, not after you've opened this door full of passion and joy and shown me what it is really feel, and want, and need. So, for that, thank you. I would never have had the courage to take this step with you._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Yours,  
__Draco_

Hermione laid the letter down, tears trailing down her cheeks. Why hadn't she read this back then? Why had she locked it away?

She wiped her tears away angrily. Now wasn't the time for crying and _what ifs_. They were together now, he'd said as much. With gentle fingers, she laid the letter down, pressing her hand to the page as if she might somehow comfort him through time, then picked up the next.

He'd sent this one a week later. When she'd received it, it had been even harder not to open. She'd wondered why he'd written again, and convinced herself it was because he was _so _angry, he needed to vent more.

She popped the wax seal and took a deep breath.

_**July 10**_

_Dear Hermione,_

_It's been a week, and I haven't heard from you. I've been telling myself it's because my first letter never made it to you, but I know that's not true. Are you angry with me? So angry you won't see me, or speak with me, at all? Are you all right?_

_I've thought about you every day since you left my bed. I wake up thinking about you, and I go to sleep thinking about you. I know that's intense, that jumping there from where we are is too fast, and I hope it doesn't frighten you, but it's the truth. When I close my eyes, I can picture you, sitting in my library, eyes bright as you talk about the books you adore. _

_Gods. I'm sorry. I normally wouldn't come on this strong when trying to court someone, and I know I should back off, take is slow, play it cool, but it's like you've bewitched me. If I could just have the chance to talk to you, face to face, I could explain in a better, less embarrassing way. _

_If you'd let me, I'd like to take you to dinner. Anywhere you'd like. If it makes you more comfortable, we can go to a Muggle restaurant so we'd have some anonymity. I've asked around, and there's a lovely little Italian place just a few blocks outside of Diagon. I've already changed some money over for the occasion, hoping you'd agree._

_Even if you've decided that night was a mistake, and you want nothing to do with me every again, at least agree to meet me and let me bring you the books you wanted to borrow. Oh, and I forgot to mention in my last letter, but you left your book here. 1984. I've started reading it, and it's very good, but very sad._

_I hope to hear from you soon. And I hope saying this doesn't frighten you (even more than I'm sure I already have) but I miss you._

_Yours,  
__Draco_

He'd thought about her like she'd thought about him - in the mornings and at night, and for her, most moments in between. It was months after that night that she was able to go a whole day without crying. She felt the tears leaving hot trails down her cheeks and she didn't try to wipe them away. She opened the next scroll hurriedly, sent just over a week later, and devoured his words, wishing he was holding her while she read.

_**July 20**_

_Hermione,_

_Please. I know it was only one day. I know you think it was a mistake, but please, let me talk to you. Let me see you._

_I've never begged before. Malfoy's do not beg, and I never thought I would find something, or someone, that would be able to make me beg, but here I am, begging. If you'd just let me see you, I'd beg on my knees._

_Please._

_I'll be at the coffee house, every day at 3:30, for the foreseeable future. I'll bring your books. I hope, I __desperately_ _hope, I'll see you there._

_Truly yours,  
__Draco_

Hermione's fist went to her mouth as a sob welled up. She could just imagine him writing this - the letters were hurried and sloppy, unlike the first two - hunched over his desk, hair a mess, panic and sadness in his eyes. She laid back on her pillows, letting the tears fall as her breath came in quick, broken pants.

He'd gone, and he'd waited, and she'd never come. She'd purposefully avoided that coffee house, thinking it was a place he frequented, and not wanting him to feel obligated to be kind to her in public. Again, she'd been avoiding a rejection that would never have come.

When was this letter sent? She looked at the date and realized she had a picture taken from a newspaper at around the same time. Skeeter had posted an article about his breakup with Astoria - which she now knew was belated - and she'd clipped it, and stared at his face longingly, before storing it. She dug it out now and looked at him, reading the sadness in the set of his mouth, the exhaustion in the way his eyes squinted, and seeing the mask on nonchalance he was trying, and failing, to put on for the rest of the world. When she'd clipped it from the paper, she'd cried because she could see how distraught he was, but she'd thought it was because Astoria had left him, which she entirely blamed herself for. The truth of his sadness now was so much more painful.

"I'm so sorry, Draco" she whispered, staring at her ceiling, letting herself wallow for only a moment.

She grabbed a tissue from her nightstand and blew her nose. There was only one letter left, postmarked nearly two months after the last, sent on her birthday. With fingers that shook, she popped the seal and unrolled it.

_**September 19**_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Happy birthday._

_I am sorry I keep writing you. I gave up hope that you'd write back weeks ago, but when I realized what day it was, I couldn't keep my quill from the parchment._

_I stopped going to the coffee house a couple of weeks ago. It was too disheartening, looking up every time the bell rang, only to see that it wasn't you. Plus, Beatrice was getting the wrong idea, I think. It wasn't fair for her to think I was interested when I only want one witch, even if that witch doesn't want me back._

_I know that what happened between us meant something. I've gone back and forth about it in my head dozens of times, but I saw your eyes. I felt your breath and your lips and your hands. It meant something amazing for me, and I know that it meant something to you, too. And while I hate that you're not ready to explore that, or even talk to me, I respect you enough to quit pushing you with these letters. _

_So, this will be my last. _

_You're an amazing witch, Hermione. A beautiful, brilliant, amazing witch. And more than anything, I wish you'd give me the chance to experience some small part of life alongside you. As your friend, your partner, your anything._

_I still think about you every day when I wake up, and every night before I fall asleep. And I pray to any gods there may be that one day you'll change your mind about all of this. That you'll show up in my library, ready to borrow my books and drink fairy ale or coffee and talk about __everything with me. And, if I'm being honest, I hope someday later still, you'll let me kiss you again, or hold your hand, or hold you against me, even if it's only once._

_We had one day together, and one night, and that will never be enough for me. In those few hours I learned something about myself - I learned that before I ran into you at that silly little coffee house, I didn't know what it meant to be happy. I think, Hermione, if I were to ever have a shot at falling in love, it would be with you._

_With that, again, happy birthday. I hope your day is as perfect as you._

_Yours Always,  
__Draco_

Hermione stared at this letter for a long time, processing his final written words. How long had he thought about her? How long had he wondered if, one day, she would show up?

With frenzied movements, she stacked her letters and photos and put them carefully back in the box. She wiped her tears away, glad her makeup had already washed away in the shower, and slipped on a sweatshirt - another Holyhead Harpies gift from Ginny - then stored the box safely in her closet.

Blaise and Ginny were still cuddled on the couch when she burst into the living room. Blaise's head popped up and he put a finger over his lips. Ginny was fast asleep.

"I think I'm in love with him," Hermione blurted, heart racing, as she stared at Draco's oldest friend with something akin to panic on her face.

Blaise grinned and pulled Ginny closer. He'd covered her with a blanket at some point and Hermione could see Blaise's socked feet peaking from the hem.

"Well that's good," Blaise spoke softly, "because I'm fairly certain he's been in love with you for _years_. Now, why don't you go tell him, instead of talking to me about it? You're risking waking my witch."

Hermione took a step toward their floo, which they rarely used, being in a part of town that housed both wizards and muggles, then stopped and turned back to Blaise. "_Your_ witch, huh?"

To his credit, he blushed. "Yes, yes. Now, go tell that prat you love him, and give us some peace, for Merlin's sake." Blaise pulled Ginny closer and shooed Hermione away.

Hermione grinned, not bothering to grab shoes. With a handful of floo powder, she called out his address, and stepped with a racing heart into the emerald green flames.

* * *

Draco was sitting in his library, sipping a glass of firewhiskey, when his floo roared to life. With a heart that beat wildly, he stood, facing the slightly sooty witch in her pajamas. He cleared his throat and put his firwhiskey down. His letters had been intense, he knew. _Too_ intense. But he needed her to know how he felt before they went any further, in case they weren't on the same page. He'd written those letters three years prior, but his feelings for her had only gotten stronger in the last few weeks. "You read them?" His voice was gruff.

"Yes," she said, keeping her distance, eyes wide.

"And?" His voice cracked. Even after he'd stopped waiting at the coffee house for her, he'd looked for her in every store, every bar, every street corner. If his floo roared to life, even though he knew it was Blaise, he hoped it was her. If they were going to work, he needed to know that she knew the depth of his affection.

"I want to borrow your books," she said, stepping forward, slowly. "I want to drink fairy ale, and coffee, and talk. I want to talk about _everything _and nothing, and I want to do it with you and only you." She reached him and put her cool hands on his face. He could see she'd been crying - her eyes were pink and her face was a little blotchy - but she'd never looked so beautiful. "And I want to kiss you, and I want you to kiss me, and hold me, all the time." She sounded calm, but his breath was coming quickly. "I'm sorry I didn't read them sooner," she whispered, stepping up onto her toes to lean her forehead against his. "I'm sorry I made us miss so much time reading and laughing and talking and...and loving. Because," she pulled back and swallowed. "Because I love you. And I think I have since that night. And I - "

He didn't let her finish as he lifted her, mouth finding hers as their bodies melded together. As the kiss ended, they breathed the same air and he laughed.

"I love you, too, you know," he said, his breath brushing her face, and she smiled.

"That was pretty evident in the subtext of your letters," she said, slipping down his chest, so that her feet touched the ground. She lay her cheek against his chest.

"I was a little worried they'd scare you away and I'd lose you again," he said as he held her to him, swaying slightly.

She laughed and snaked her arms around his slender waist, giving him a squeeze. "I couldn't get back here fast enough."

"Hermione," he pulled back from her and held her at arms length, his expression suddenly serious. "I know all of this, of us, is fast. I was raised to do things a certain way when it comes to a lady, and so far I've mucked that up royally. Courting someone like you should take time and planning and care, but we jumped into things, and then again, and I just, I don't like being away from you. And I was wondering, if maybe, you might consider - "

"Are you asking me to stay the night more?" She asked, grinning, knowing what he was really asking.

"Stay the night, permanently," he said, his hands fidgeting with the hem of her tee shirt where he held her. "Will you move in here? Live with me?"

Hermione's face broke out into a small smile. "As long as you'll let me," she whispered.

His face broke out in a grin and he picked her up off the ground again. Her legs went around his waist and her arms went around his neck as he twirled her once.

"Can you move in tonight?" he asked, his stormy grey eyes twinkling.

Hermione laughed and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.

* * *

Later that night, Hermione and Draco sat on the loveseat, her legs curled under her while she leaned against him, basking in their new decision.

"When Blaise gets back into town, I'll let him know he needs to find his own place," he said as he kissed her temple.

She chuckled and glanced up at him. "Considering the fact Blaise's been at _my _flat with _my _roommate every night I've been here, I don't think it will be a problem."

"Huh," Draco said, a smirk growing on his face. "He and Weaslette are a thing, still? Well, good for him," he said. "She seems like she'll keep in line."

"You have no idea," Hermione said with a chuckle.

Draco leaned to look at her, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Do you know what that means? Blaise staying there?"

"What?" Hermione asked, playfully nervous.

"That means," he said as he slowly began to push her down onto the loveseat, peeling her sweatshirt off just before she was fully reclined, then lifting the hem of her tee-shirt to place open-mouthed kisses on her belly. "That we can _explore_ other rooms now, without worrying he'll walk in." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Hermione laughed as he kissed her stomach. He slid up her body - their feet hanging off the end of the couch - to lay beside her.

"I think I'm going to like calling this place home," she said as he bathed her neck with his lips.

"As this is the first night in _your _new home, I think we should christen it, don't you?" he murmured in her ear and she grinned and nodded.

"Most definitely," she said as he captured her lips.

This kiss was slow and deep, and in it was the promise of all the things that were to come. A future. A family. All the things that had been fantasies - for both of them - in this moment, started to take shape in the aether. Hermione let herself melt into Draco, and he melted into her, and for the first time in a long time, all was right with the world.


End file.
